Artificium Magum
by Calliopeia17
Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? A novel-length seventh-year SSHG fic.
1. Litre Alley

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SSHG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R 

Pairing: Snape/Hermione   
Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

* * *

Chapter 1: Litre Alley 

A tiny bell rang lightly as Hermione pushed open the door to the bookshop, then suddenly combusted into a giant ball of flame that engulfed her body. She yelped and leapt back outside before realizing that the flames had only tingled slightly, and were more likely than not just another one of Medea's new security devices.

She stood of the doorstep of Alexandrine Books for a moment before the door suddenly swung open and the head of one Medea Libris poked out.

"Sorry about that, Granger; come on in. I've turned it off."

"New security system?" Hermione asked testily, brushing at her clothes and scanning for flakes of ash or charred bits.

"It is indeed," Medea said, tossing her thick hair. "It's just a magical scan; it checks for any unpurchased merchandise—and scorches you a bit if you're shoplifting. Perfectly harmless, really."

Hermione shook her head and tried to slow her still-pounding heart. "You're going to scare all your honest customers away with that thing!"

Medea frowned. "Think it's a bit much? I've been tweaking the charms all day, trying to make it a bit of a tough warning without being frightening." She gestured at her scorched eyebrows. "It's been a bit of an adventure."

"I can imagine," Hermione responded wryly.

"So Granger, how've you been and how can I help you? You're what, a seventh year now?" Hermione nodded. "Merlin, but it's been a long time."

Medea, who'd been a seventh-year Ravenclaw in Hermione's first year at Hogwarts, was by now an old friend. They'd met that year when Hermione was searching out rare books for information on the Philosopher's Stone; Medea's father had, at the time, run Alexandrine Books—named after the ancient library in Egypt that had burnt down thousands of years ago, the lost repository of classic treasures, Medea had once told her proudly—and Medea had been more than glad to help a bright young first-year with some extra-credit research. When Medea took over the bookstore after finishing Hogwarts, Hermione had made it a tradition to visit the shop whenever she was in Diagon Alley.

"Mum and Dad gave me some extra money for an early birthday gift," Hermione explained. "I suppose I'm just looking for a place to spend it. And of course I wanted to stop in and see you."

Medea grinned. "Well, I'll see what I can do about the first part, anyway. Obviously, you've already seen me. Any idea what you're looking for?"

"No," Hermione said, "I don't know what I want. I've piles of reading for NEWTs already, and some of it looks _really _interesting—there's a text on Potions Theory that I've already started, and it's brilliant. It always drives me mad in class when I can't figure out _why _something works, and Potions was always the worst of the lot."

Medea grinned at that. "Snape's always been a fan of those cookbook sorts of manuals, hasn't he? Doesn't assign theory until NEWT courses—he always said he didn't want to deal with "those dunderheads" experimenting with his supplies because of some half-baked idea they dug up from a theory text."

"Same old Snape," Hermione laughed. "The Defense Against the Dark Arts text looks brilliant too."

"Any news on who's teaching the class?" Medea asked, but Hermione shook her head. The cursed position had continued to do its work—last year's professor had ended up dead at the hands of Death Eaters after accepting bribes to kill Harry Potter then backing out with some unexpected moral strength. No one, as far as Hermione had heard, was willing to take the job.

"Well, I suppose—" Medea broke off suddenly to the sound of a strangled yelp from the doorway. "Coming!" she shouted. "Be back in minute," she said to Hermione, then darted off in the direction of an elderly gentleman standing in the doorway batting at the flames that threatened his expensive-looking robes.

Hermione watched as Medea waved her wand rather erratically in the direction of the flames, which finally extinguished in a puff of greenish smoke. The wizard harrumphed.

"What sort of foolishness is this? Setting fires in bookstores, young lady—" he shook his head.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. It's just a slight…erm…malfunction in our new security system. I hope you weren't injured at all?"

"No, but you really ought to be more careful…"

"Yes, sir. Of course, sir. In fact, I'll dismantle it right now." Hermione watched with surprise as Medea executed what looked to be rather tricky wandwork—there didn't seem to be any obvious trigger. By the time Medea had deactivated the Flame Charm and sent the old man on his way with an out-of-print Transfigurations text, Hermione was practically consumed by curiosity.

"Medea, where did you get that spell anyway?" she finally asked. "It doesn't seem very reliable."

Medea blushed. "Well," she began, "I didn't actually buy it—I put it together myself."

Hermione was astounded—and, though she wasn't sure she wanted to admit to herself, not a small bit jealous. "Is that legal?" she finally asked.

"Yes," Medea answered. "Well, spell development's legal, anyway. As long as no one gets hurt, no major destruction, that sort of thing."

Hermione couldn't help but feel that rush of excitement that always came when there was something new to be discovered. "How do you learn how to do it?" she asked.

Medea looked around sheepishly. "You'd better come to the back room for a minute."

"But—" Hermione began, running through all the things Medea would possibly have to discuss out of public eye, and coming up with none that were entirely legal. Medea grabbed her arm and tugged, cutting Hermione off. She pulled the younger girl into the back room, among dusty stacks of ancient books, shut the door and cast a quick Silencing Charm.

"I thought you said this was legal!" Hermione accused.

"The spells I did were legal," Medea said. "Everything's legal…just a bit dangerous."

Hermione narrowed her eyes and tried to look menacing, though she had a strong feeling she was only managing to look ridiculous. "Medea. Please tell me what in the world you're talking about?"

"Well, you know how Dad lives for hunting down rare books. That's the whole purpose of the shop, really; he needs some way to pay all his travel bills."

Hermione grinned at that; it was a more than accurate characterization of Homer Libris. But that didn't explain Medea's illegal—or dangerous, anyway—spell experiments.

"Dad was in Egypt this June, and he brought back this book," Medea continued, "that was an entire collection of Magical Theory—and it's old, too; Dad said that the man who sold it to him claimed it was saved from the fire when the Alexandrine library burned. Of course, you can never trust those street peddlers in Egypt. But, at any rate, I've been looking through it."

Hermione felt a rush of excitement. "Can I see it?"

Medea reached across a huge pile of books to her desk, and from beneath a sheaf of papers pulled a giant leather-bound tome. Hermione could barely read the gold lettering emblazoned on the front. _Artificium Magum._ Magical Theory.

"Here," she said, holding the book out to Hermione. "Take a look."

Hermione took the volume from Medea's hands and pulled open the heavy cover. She ran her fingers gently, respectfully over the delicate script, which looked to be painfully hard to read. She flipped to the next page, to see a moving sketch performing what appeared to be the disembowelment of a rabbit. Hermione quickly turned the page again. It was too much to take in at one time, she knew at once; every page, as she glanced over it, was so cramped with information—information Hermione was certain would be very useful on her NEWTS—that she was immediately enthralled. Here was an entire chapter devoted to different methods of Transfiguration, divided into sections based on the witch or wizard's thought process—some claimed it was better to concentrate on color and textures before changing the actual shape of the object; others argued that the reverse process made for longer-lasting spells. There was even—Hermione noted with considerable glee—a goodly section on magical children of Muggles and how magic could be inherited or spontaneously occur in the child of two Muggle parents.

It was incredible. Hermione didn't even want to let go of the book, much less give it back to Medea. It was everything she'd ever dreamed—an entire, localized collection of the whys of magic.

Medea was looking at Hermione with a small smile on her face. "Do you want it, Granger?"

Hermione briefly considered some sort of haggling, then immediately dismissed the idea. "Yes," she breathed, then looked quizzically at Medea. "But don't you?"

"Want it?" Medea asked. "I've read through it, Granger, but to be honest it's more complicated than it looks. You saw what a mess I made of the Flame Charm. It's interesting, but a bit too interesting for me. I'll sell it to you if you want it."

"Oh, yes," Hermione answered eagerly. She paused. A book like that, as rare as Medea had described, a remnant of the Alexandrine library—it wouldn't come cheap. "How much…" she asked hesitantly.

"I'll give it to you for forty Galleons," Medea said.

Hermione was flabbergasted. "That little?" she couldn't help but ask. "I thought you said this book was rare?"

"Dad got it for cheap in Egypt, Granger, and I can't prove its age or origin. It's informative, I'll give you that, but it's got more pointless information than the average customer would ever want to know. I can't read it, I can't sell it—so it's yours if you want it."

Forty Galleons was, of course, expensive for a book, but Hermione was more than willing to pay the extra gold for a tome as thick as that one—and she had the distinct feeling that Medea was giving her a good deal. "I'll take it," Hermione said, and handed Medea the gold—the thirty Galleons her Mum and Dad had given her for her birthday, and ten more from her own long-hoarded pocket money.

Medea wrapped the huge book into a thick parcel and handed it to Hermione. "Take care of it, Granger. And happy birthday."

Hermione grinned. "Thanks, Medea."

"Anytime," the older girl replied.

As Hermione exited the shop, she couldn't help but noticed the scorch marks darkening the doorframe. The bell jingled as she exited, but this time, thank Merlin, there was no fire.

Tucking the parcel under her arm, Hermione wandered into the crowd, lazily making her way towards Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, where she'd arranged to meet Harry and the Weasleys at quarter to three. Hermione glanced at her wristwatch, which displayed the date, time, and Hermione's location in neatly scripted letters. It was only just after two, so she decided to pick up a few more school supplies before taking a her ice cream break.

Slug and Jigger's Apothecary was just across the alley, and, as Hermione glanced quickly over her shopping list, she saw several potion ingredients that she needed to add to her stores. New on the list this year were yew berries, oil of myrrh, crane feathers, mistletoe, what appeared to be a vast selection of different types of crushed beetles, powdered dragon scales (extremely pricey ones), glumbumble fluid, and small fragments of bezoars, plus, of course, a restock of all the ingredients in the sixth-year potions kit. Hermione smiled tentatively at Mr. Slug's grim expression as he scooped glittering piles of powered scarabs into small glass tubes for her. He glowered back.

Hermione was just handing a large handful of Sickles over the counter when she heard a low, familiar, and very angry voice.

"This dragon's blood is clearly substandard, Mr. Jigger." It was, Hermione realized with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach, Professor Snape.

He was standing at the far end of the counter, hook nose, black robes, greasy hair, and all, and snapping angrily at the cowering form of Jigger, who looked absolutely terrified. He stammered apologies as Professor Snape stood glaring.

Hermione, dreading the idea of a confrontation with her Professor, slipped quickly out of the apothecary, but she couldn't help but hear Snape's increasingly rising words.

"…to do when a Temporary Translation Potion lasts half the time it's supposed to—people could have been injured! And how dare you even suggest that my brewing was fault?"

Hermione supposed that the last, at least, was true—Snape did not make mistakes when brewing a potion. Still, he could at least be more polite, she mused as she shut the Apothecary door behind her. She rolled her eyes at her own dissembling. Who was she fooling? She hated the man; it was as simple as that. At least he was intelligent, which was more than could be said for most of his House (Crabbe and Goyle came to mind), but a more miserable excuse for a human being could never be found. "Insufferable know-it-all" indeed.

Shaking her head, Hermione wandered back towards the ice cream parlor. In a large table in the corner she could see a splash of red hair, and a grin spread on her face. It was time to start another year.


	2. On the Hogwarts Express

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SSHG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: Many thanks to my lovely beta, beautifulrain.

* * *

"Hermione!" came Ron Weasley's voice from across the narrow street. "Hurry up and get over here!" 

Hermione laughed as she ran to meet her friends. "It's brilliant to see you all! Did you all have good summers?"

"As good as can be expected, with all those piles of homework McGonagall and Snape assigned," Ron replied, grinning.

Harry smiled too, though he looked as though his mind was elsewhere. "You know well enough how my summer's been, Hermione—you've written practically every day."

"I was worried about you," Hermione replied honestly. "I didn't mean to nag; I'm sorry if it bothered you."

"No, it was nice to be getting news for once," Harry said, rolling his eyes and looking—thank Merlin—a bit more awake. Hermione had honestly been worried about him. He'd faced down Voldemort once again the previous June, at Hogsmeade—it seemed to be becoming a yearly tradition—and this time the battle had seen more violence than Hermione thought any sixteen-year-old should have had to have been party to. Harry had killed for the first time—oh, not with the Killing Curse, of course; he'd used magic to pull a wall down on top of Lucius Malfoy. Harry'd been trying to save Ron's life, he hadn't meant to kill Malfoy at all—at least, Hermione preferred to believe that—but there was no denying the blood on his hands now, and it had aged him more than Hermione had ever thought possible.

The entire fiasco of the battle was only worsened by the subsequent death of Draco Malfoy. The idiot boy had been fighting on the side of the Death Eaters, though there'd been no Dark Mark on his body; she'd looked herself. Still, Hermione had known him since she was eleven, and even if he was a nasty, elitist git she didn't think he had deserved to die. The sight of Harry's face as he stood over Malfoy's body—unmarked and looking only slightly surprised; he'd been hit with an Auror's stray Avada Kedavra—had been the most chilling experience of Hermione's life, worse even than watching the elder Malfoy's body disappear under a pile of bricks and be removed, hours later, broken and lifeless as his son. It was only when Hermione had seen the thestrals pulling the carriage towards the Hogwarts Express that she had realized that nothing would be the same again, and that Harry would need his friends more than ever.

She and Ron and Harry had written this summer more than they ever had before, frantically, almost, sharing with the others what little information each could find. Ron knew the most—with his parents and four older brothers active Order members, the Burrow had become almost as much a hub of activity as Grimmauld Place. The most Hermione had had to report recently had been the arrival of her Head Girl badge, and Harry his matching Head Boy one. Hermione had been surprised by that at first—why give Harry more responsibility than he already carried on his shoulders?—but then she realized that there were any number of possible reasons.

First and foremost, of course, was that the Hogwarts students would almost automatically follow the Head Boy. Hermione didn't doubt for an instant that Dumbledore was preparing for war, within the walls of Hogwarts itself if it had to be. Then too, there was fact that Harry deserved the honor, after all he'd been through.

Now Harry just looked resigned, and so, so old.

Hermione's train of thought was interrupted by a shout from Mrs. Weasley. "Oh, Hermione, dear, it's so good to see you. Congratulations on being made Head Girl, but you deserve it of course, it's not as if we've had any doubts you'd make it." She enfolded Hermione suddenly into a crushing embrace, which Hermione tentatively returned.

When Mrs. Weasley finally released her, Hermione saw Ginny for the first time since June as well, and stood up to hug the younger girl. "Summer been all right, Ginny?" she asked, and Ginny nodded.

"Brilliant, really. And Ron's finally decided that I just might be grown up enough to read a few of your letters—the ones where you talk about--" she lowered her voice and cast a furtive glance at Mrs. Weasley "—the Order."

Hermione grinned at that. Ron's overprotectiveness towards his younger sister had been the stuff of legend, up until last June's battle in Hogsmeade, where Ginny had held her own in combat against a full-grown Death Eater and Ron was forced to admit that Ginny might be more grown up than he had wanted to believe.

"How long have you all been here?" Hermione finally asked.

"Oh, we just arrived," Mrs. Weasley answered for all of them. "But when I talked to your parents, they said you'd arrived this morning."

"What've you been doing all day? You can't have been shopping for that long," Ron declared, sounding scandalized.

"I wasn't, Ronald. I was at the bookstore," she replied.

"Still shopping," commented Harry with a grin.

"I didn't see you in Flourish and Blotts," Ginny commented. "I went over there first."

"I was at Medea's—Alexandrine Books. It's right on the corner of Litre Alley," she added, seeing Ginny and the boys look puzzled.

"Who's Medea?" Ginny asked.

"She graduated before you came. She was in Ravenclaw," Hermione answered. "And I stopped at the Apothecary, too," she added as an afterthought. "Snape was there, so I left."

"I don't blame you," Ron said snidely. "I'd try to stay away from the man too. He was up at the Burrow the other day—came to see Charlie, he said, though I didn't hear a civil word out of him the entire time he was there. I answered the door when he knocked—it was the most scarring experience of my life." He gave a dramatic shudder, and, for the first time since June, Hermione saw Harry smile.

"What did he need from Charlie?" Harry asked. It was, Hermione knew, one of those questions that he didn't expect an answer to—the three of them had spent the summer trying to piece together what little bits of information they could garner into a coherant picture of Voldemort's movements and the actions the Order was taking to counter them. It was a doomed endeavor, Hermione knew. Not even Fred and George, full-fledged Order members and successful businessmen, but still as light-hearted as ever, would let slip information, or even donate an Extendable Ear or two to the cause.

"Something about dragons, I would imagine," Ron said. "I wasn't about to ask him—he looked like he'd swallowed a lemon the entire time. And he called me a dunderhead."

Even Harry laughed at that, and Hermione couldn't help but say, "You are a dunderhead, Ron."

"But we love you anyway," Ginny added with a grin.

"Actually," Hermione said consideringly, "when I saw him at Slug and Jigger's, he was talking about making Translation Potions from dragon's blood."

"Eurgh," said Ron, making a face. "Can you imagine drinking anything's blood?"

Hermione felt a twinge of annoyance. "Translation is the first of Dumbledore's twelve uses of dragon blood. If a drinker consumes the undiluted blood, especially that which is fresh from the heart of the dragon, he will be able to speak in any language of human or beast." She knew her voice was taking on the lecturing tone that Harry and Ron always rolled their eyes at, but really, it was better for them to know than not.

"Snape was drinking dragon's blood?" Ron asked, looking slightly ill. "I know he looks like a vampire, but—"

"I highly doubt that Snape was drinking undiluted dragon's blood," Hermione couldn't help but interrupt, "as it's generally considered an inconvenience to be able to understand everything anything is saying, all the time. You'd be walking in a forest, and every birdsong would sound like words to you, every noise an animal made would be in a sentence. All the time, forever. Most people who drink it go insane. Besides, he was talking about a Temporary Translation Potion. It uses dragon's blood, but in much smaller amounts."

"Why would Snape want to translate anything?" Harry mused.

"Who knows, mate?" Ron answered. "Who knows why Snape does anything?"

That seemed to be the general consensus as the three of them left to go buy their few remaining school supplies, and Ginny wandered off with Mrs. Weasley, purportedly to go shopping for a pair of dress robes at Gladrags. Harry seemed brighter already for the company of his friends, which lightened some of the worry in Hermione's heart. Perhaps things were finally looking brighter.

* * *

It wasn't until that evening, curled up in bed in the Leaky Cauldron room she was sharing with Ginny, that Hermione had the chance to take a closer look at the _Artificium Magum._ She pulled open the heavy cover and began to read in the dim candlelight.

_It is one of the great mysteries of Wizardkind that we do not understand whence our Powers come. This Book gathers all the research collected on the subject to the present day and attempts to draw conclusions about the source of our Power and the manners in which it is applied. It is known that Magic is an Energy as heat or flame, one which some ability in the mind of the Witch or Wizard allows us to utilize using only our Wills and a focusing device, id est a Wand or Staff. Magic is a product of the mind's ability to control the Magical Energy that exists both within us and the World around us. To be Magical is to be attuned to this Energy, to be capable of feeling it and manipulating it; to be Muggle is to be unable to feel or use this Power. Magic itself creates Witches and Wizards, and being in the Presence of Magic while in the Womb of one's Mother is perhaps the best indicator of whether a child be born Magical or not. Muggle-born Wizards and Witches were often exposed to Magic before Birth, by their Mothers passing through Magical locations or fields. Children born to Magical parents are always in Magical fields by nature of the Spells which their Parents perform, and the lingering Power in Magical houses and towns._

Hermione sighed deeply as she sat the book down, marking the page with a strip of scarlet and gold-striped ribbon that she always kept on hand. It was, as Medea had warned her, not an easy read. It wasn't as if Hermione would ever be scared away from a book by big words, but the cramped print and the dim light was beginning to make her head ache, and she longed for the Hogwarts library, brilliantly lit at every hour of the day and late into the night. Well, she'd be there tomorrow.

Murmuring a 'goodnight' to Ginny, who mumbled something unintelligible back and rolled over, Hermione blew out the candle and pulled the covers over her head. She fell asleep instantly.

Hermione slept late the next morning, late enough that by the time Hermione, Harry, and the Weasley's had barrelled through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾, everyone else was already on the train. The four of them jumped on, dragging trunks and animal cages behind them, and made their way through the passageway, searching for empty seats. Nearly all the compartments were full, and so by the time they came to an empty one and stowed their luggage, the Hogwarts Express had already lurched into motion.

"You know," Hermione pointed out, "we really should be going to the Prefect's car."

"That's when work starts," groaned Ron, who, like his younger sister, was one of the Gryffindor Prefects for the year.

"Oh, let's just stay here for a moment," said Harry, "for old times' sake." Ginny nodded her agreement, and the four of them sat in silence for a few minutes.

"Who's the seventh-year Slytherin prefect this year?" Ron asked out of the blue. Harry winced visibly. It would have been Draco Malfoy, they all knew, but he was dead, and Harry blamed himself.

"Theodore Nott," Hermione answered shakily, trying to ignore the implications and force the image of Draco's corpse out of her head. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Yeah," he said, but he sounded slightly sick.

"D'you want to talk about it, Harry? You haven't, you know, and it might make it easier…." Hermione knew she was acting far too motheringly for Harry to ever confide in her, and wasn't surprised when he shook his head.

"I don't want to talk. It's fine, you guys. It'll be fine."

"Come on," said Ginny, standing up. "Let's go to the Prefect's car. We've got work to do anyway. She picked up Pigwidgeon's cage and carried it into the corridor. The four of them were halfway down the hall when a strange noise, like the ripping of a giant piece of fabric, came from the compartment they had just vacated.

"What was that?" Ron asked tentatively.

"Let's go see," Harry said, a firmness in his voice that sounded to Hermione as though it came from taking charge of something, anything. Maybe Dumbledore had been right to make him Head Boy after all.

Harry through open the door to the compartment, and didn't make a sound. Hermione, peering in over his arm, couldn't help but gasp. The seats, the fabric on the walls, everything in the compartment was slashed as though it had been attacked with knives. Stuffing poured out of the huge tears in the seat coverings, and swathes of fabric hung from the walls.

"Rending Hex," she heard herself say. "It was cast on the entire compartment. It would have killed us if we'd been in there."

Ron's face was white, and Ginny looked queasy. Harry still didn't speak.

"It's illegal," Ginny said. "Whoever cast it—"

"No one cast it while we were nearby," Harry said suddenly. "You'd have to be inside the compartment to cast it on the entire room. And even then there'd have to be some kind of time trigger."

Hermione flinched inwardly at how easily Harry could spout off facts about Dark Magic. She'd sent him books over the summer—reading for the DA, she'd told him, in case they needed to start it up again—but it still made him seem old, somehow.

"It might not have been meant for us at all, mate," Ron said finally. "If it had a time trigger, I mean."

"Ron, who else on the Hogwarts Express would anyone be trying to kill?" Hermione said testily.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said. "Everyone's all right; let's just let it go."

Hermione was aghast. "Harry, someone just tried to kill you!"

"Voldemort's been trying to kill me for seventeen years now, Hermione, remember. It's nothing new."

Hermione couldn't think of anything to say to that. It was true, of course, but it didn't make it any easier for her to bear. It was just that he was being so—_resigned, _like he had given up, like he was expecting to die and it didn't matter anymore. That scared Hermione more than Voldemort ever could.

Ron put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Let's go to the Prefect's car, mate."

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Good idea."

They walked past a few open compartments—one was packed with Slytherins, Hermione saw, talking among themselves in low voices, with the new seventh-year Prefect, Theodore Nott, at their center. The one good thing about the entire mess, Hermione reflected, was that at least Nott wasn't sympathetic to Voldemort, per se. Certainly not to the degree that Draco Malfoy had been. The Slytherins went silent and refused to meet any of the Gryffindors' eyes as they walked by, then began whispering again as soon as Hermione, who was at the end of the group, was past. It was an eerie feeling, but she put it from her mind.

By the time the train arrived at Hogwats, the Rending Hex was, if not forgotten, at least in the back of all their minds as they handed out stacks of timetables and class information. Being Head Girl, Hermione realized very quickly, was more than just a nod to her class standing. People respected her, and she had work to do, and all she could think was that she'd better live up to her duties. This was going to be a difficult year.

* * *

Enjoyed? Please review! 

Notes to reviewers:

**I-LUV-ILC: **Thanks! Nice to hear from you!

**Dafina:** Thanks so much! I do write original fiction- nothing published or anything though. As for your comments on my Beethoven fic, I don't think anything serious is coming out of it, though I suppose it's possible. Also, thank you SO MUCH for recommending _Beethoven's Last Night_- as soon as I read your review, I listened to a few sample clips, fell in love with it, and bought a CD. It really is great!

**westdean:** Thank you, and thanks for recommending Ashwinder. I haven't read much on it - I only go there when recommendations lead me to it - but it seems like a really great place to archive this, so I really appreciate the suggestion and will probably be up there soon.


	3. The Duties of the Head Girl

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SSHG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: Thanks again to beautifulrain for the beta work.

* * *

It would never stop being eerie, Hermione reflected, to actually be able to _see_ the thestrals pulling the carriages up towards Hogwarts. They were a constant reminder of everything that had changed, and, in Hermione's mind, a mark of the growing darkness.

For once, it wasn't pouring rain as the upper-year students made their way into the Great Hall, for which Hermione was very grateful—and besides, it made the ceiling look even more spectacular than usual, plastered with stars and every constellation visible. She looked around the vast room, hung with the insignia of the four Houses, Hogwarts's crest proudly displayed above the Head Table.

Most of the teachers were already seated, with the exception of Professor McGonagall, who would be leading in the new first-years any minute. Hermione scanned the staff table for new faces, doing a double-take when at first glance she saw no unfamiliar faces. Surely the new Defense teacher would be there—but then she realized that, though the faces were familiar, there was a face there that hadn't been at the teacher's table before.

Nymphadora Tonks, looking very nervous but with her face so calm that Hermione wondered if she was keeping a morph in place, was sitting at Dumbledore's left side. Snape, from further down the table, was glaring at Tonks with such vitriol that Hermione was amazed she was able to keep from shaking.

The sound of the great doors opening drew Hermione from her thoughts. The first-years trailed inside, looking in awe at the ceiling, at the crowded tables. They looked far too small—Hermione thought back to her own first year, to Harry at that age, already facing down Voldemort—and she couldn't even begin to compare who she'd been with these tiny newcomers.

They proceeded to the front of the Hall, where the Sorting Hat already perched on a stool.

_It's another year at Hogwarts,  
With new young folk to learn and grow,  
So here I am, I as I've always been,  
To tell you where to go._

_Come forward, each of you,  
And I will tell you what I see;  
All you do is put me on—  
I'll say where you should be._

_It may be you're for Gryffindor,  
Where courage lives in heart;  
There, chivalry, strength, and bravery  
Become your greatest part._

_Perhaps you are a Ravenclaw,  
The brightest of our lot,  
Intelligence and drive to learn  
Push Ravenclaws to the top._

_Or else a gentle Hufflepuff,  
Where loyalty's the thing  
To hold most dear, and friendly caring  
To our school they bring._

_It might yet be in Slytherin  
Where you will belong,  
Where ambition, wit, and cunning  
Are what make you strong._

_I once again as well, however,  
Must lay a warning out:  
More than ever, division threatens us,  
We are weak from inside and out._

_Hogwarts must come together,  
Disregarding House and past—  
If you do not, the school will fall,  
So cleave together fast._

_Come forward; I will Sort you,  
But know House is not all—  
Meet your friends, but find others, too,  
Or witness Hogwarts's fall._

There was a moment of dead silence in the Great Hall, before Dumbledore brought his hands together and a few scattered claps spread throughout the room. Hermione clapped a few times quickly, but stopped as she noticed Harry's white face.

"It didn't do that last year," he muttered to her and Ron as they leaned in towards him. "I'd hoped—" He broke off.

Hermione, who usually hated being blunt and was generally more than willing to tiptoe around an issue, couldn't help but speak. "It suggests that the threat of division is different than what it warned about fifth year. And, Harry, Malfoy's dead. The Slytherins have to have a different leader now."

"They were all gathered around Nott on the Hogwarts Express," Ron pointed out, and Harry nodded.

"Quiet now; Dumbledore's talking," Hermione said quickly, as the Headmaster stood. He too looked old; there was a tiredness in his eyes that had appeared at Voldemort's return and since only increased, but the twinkle was still there as well.

"Welcome," he began, "students new and old, to another year at Hogwarts School. The Sorting Hat has already given you the warning that I intended to speak now—but it can only bear repeating, now especially. Hogwarts stands at the center of a war that threatens to consume the world around us. Some of you, especially those of you who have just joined us, may have parents who believe that you should be kept from knowing about the battle against Lord Voldemort. But while I endeavor to keep each one of you safe from that battle, I am ultimately an educator, and I will not leave you in ignorance. The Wizarding world is at war, and even Hogwarts has seen causalities."

The Slytherins, at the prompting of Nott, bowed their heads at this, and Hermione saw Harry's face go still.

Dumbledore continued. "That said, and reminding you once again that you are safe here at Hogwarts, it is my pleasure to announce a new member of the Hogwarts faculty, Professor Nymphadora Tonks, who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were the first on their feet, leading the applause, which spread quickly along the Head Table and through the students. Tonks was blushing now, and even Snape gave a half-hearted clap, though he was still glowering.

When the room finally quieted, Dumbledore went on. "Mr. Filch would like me to remind all students that the Forbidden Forest is, as its name implies, forbidden to all students, on pain of detention and/or dismemberment. All other non-permitted locations and contraband objects may be found on a list in Mr. Filch's office. Finally, I ask once more that safety be foremost on all of your minds this year. We live in dangerous times. Do not stray from the Hogwarts grounds unless accompanied by a staff member, and if you see or hear of something that worries you, inform a Professor immediately.

"That said, I wish all of you a wonderful year, full of all the wonderful learning, friendship, growth, and socks that Hogwarts can offer."

"Socks?" Ron mouthed at Harry and Hermione, and both of them grinned as applause spread through the Great Hall once more.

"Well, for all the warnings, he's still himself," Harry said wryly.

Professor McGonagall was swiftly walking towards them, carrying a pile of parchment. "Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, here are the Prefect lists, the faculty roster, and the year's passwords. The parchments are enchanted to change when the passwords do, so you should be able to access any House's common room, and any Professor's private office—and only in an emergency, mind you; if there's any talk of abusing this privilege you'll be stripped of your badge. You know I'm proud as can be to see two Gryffindors in these positions—I would hate to see either of you lose them. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied.

"Of course, Professor McGonagall," Hermione added, feeling awkward at just echoing Harry but not feeling as though she should remain silent, either.

"Very good," McGonagall said. "The first Prefect's meeting will be held as soon as the Prefects have lead their Houses to the dormitories. The two of you, on the other hand, come straight to Professor Dumbledore's office. The Heads of House want to speak with the two of you alone."

"Thank you, Professor," Hermione replied, taking the pieces of parchment from McGonagall and passing one to Harry.

Half an hour later, the two of them were standing at the great gargoyle that guarded the entrance to Professor Dumbledore's office.

"Cauldron Cakes," Harry read from the parchment, and the gargoyle moved aside. Harry looked at Hermione a bit nervously, but with a hint of mischief in his faint smile. "Ladies first," he said.

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione couldn't help but mutter back, keeping her voice low, "it's not as if you're being sent off to be executed."

Harry grinned. "Well, then you won't mind going first."

"Fine," Hermione huffed, trying to convince herself that Harry was just being immature and the slight fluttering in her stomach was the result of too many peppermint humbugs at the Sorting Feast. Pushing Harry aside, she stepped onto the wooden stairs, which slowly began to rise.

She stepped off at the top, Harry right behind her, and into Dumbledore's large antechamber, where McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Snape were already occupying a mismatched collection of chairs, and several more sat empty, apparently for the other Prefects when they arrived. Dumbledore gestured to the empty seats.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, please take a seat." They did so hesitantly, and then turned to face the staff. "This meeting will serve to give the two of you instructions in your duties for the year. You've been given considerable responsibility, and I trust that you will live up to it. You have access to each House's common room—" Snape snorted at this, and McGonagall shot an angry glare in his direction. "—which," Dumbledore continued, as though he hadn't heard, "is a great power which I trust neither of you will misuse. It is only to be applied in the event of an emergency, and any light or trivial use will be met with severe sanctions against you.

"It is your duty to lead the student body, first and foremost by setting a good example. You would not be here if you had not already done so—" At this, Snape snorted again. "—but I expect both high marks and responsible behavior to continue. You also have the ability to take House points from other students for misbehavior, and to assign detentions with Mr. Filch if necessary. You both have full access to the restricted section of the library.

"Now, I must go outside to invite the other Prefects inside. Professor Flitwick, Professor Sprout, Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to provide directions to the entrances to your House's respective common rooms while I do so?"

He stood and left the room, and Flitwick and Sprout were quick to provide directions to the portrait entrances to Ravenclaw Tower and the Hufflepuff cellar rooms. Snape, on the other hand, pulled them aside roughly.

"The two of you may be Gryffindors, and it's enough of an insult to be forced to give the Common Room location to you, but Potter and Granger, really," he sneered, "it's rather spectacular that you could become Head Boy and Girl after murdering one of my students, isn't it, but then Dumbledore always did have a soft spot for his beloved Golden Trio."

Harry's face went white, and Hermione could feel her own going red. She was speechless with rage, and hated the feeling—why, oh why couldn't she manage to come up with a retort?

"And as bad as it may be to see a Muggleborn know-it-all Head Girl," Snape continued, ignoring Hermione's spluttering, "it's worse to see Potter here and know that he's only there because his father was. Proud of Dumbledore's nepotism, Potter?"

"That's not true," Hermione finally managed, glaring at Snape even though she was fairly certain she looked like an idiot with her face crimson—she could feel it burning. "Harry's Head Boy because people follow him—because they respect him. Which is more that I can say for some people," she snapped out, amazed at her own disrespect.

"Are you suggesting that I don't deserve my position, Miss Granger?" Snape's voice was low, oily, and quite dangerous.

"I wouldn't presume to say anything of the sort, Professor," Hermione responded airily.

"Good." He rolled his eyes, as if dismissing anything else Hermione might have to say, then spun and walked off, just as Dumbledore made his way back into the room, followed by the Prefects.

The speech he made to the Prefects as a whole was remarkably similar to that which he had told Harry and Hermione, with the exception of some dull instructions on handing out timetables the next morning at breakfast. By the time the others were shuffling out to their common rooms, Hermione was having trouble holding back yawns.

As she was leaving though, the seventh-year Slytherin prefect, Daphne Greengrass, came up to Hermione and pulled her aside.

"I'm breaking every single rule of House conduct, Granger, but tell Potter to watch out for Nott."

"What do you mean?" Hermione exclaimed. "Is he working with You-Know-Who?" At Daphne's slightly disgusted expression, Hermione realized that she'd just disregarded every rule of subtlety the Slytherins held dear. "Sorry," she whispered faintly. "I didn't mean that."

Daphne relaxed a bit. "Just tell him to watch out, Granger. Nott's an idiot, and he doesn't know half of what he's getting himself into, but he's clever, all the same, and he'll attack from behind in a heartbeat."

"Thanks, Greengrass," Hermione managed as the other girl walked away, ignoring Hermione as surely as if she'd never spoken. What in Merlin's name was that all about? Watch out for Nott? Surely the new Slytherin wasn't as dangerous as Draco had been, with a powerful father behind him and aid from the Ministry.

When Hermione, Harry, and Ron made their way back into the Gryffindor Common Room, they made a few brief hellos, then made their way into a corner by the fire. Hermione passed on what Greengrass had said, and the boys listened carefully for a minute.

"I don't know, Harry," Ron said finally. "I mean, it might mean something, but it might just be Slytherin politics, or whatever they have going on, or a trick, or…or something."

"Thank you, Ron, for that brilliant assessment," Hermione said wryly, and Harry smiled slightly.

"We'll just have to wait and see. I know Nott could be a problem—but, like the Sorting Hat said, we ought to work together, too," he pointed out.

"I don't know, Harry. It seemed like what Daphne was doing was in the spirit of cooperation. But who knows," Hermione said.

Harry yawned. "We can sleep on it, and talk about it tomorrow. I'm going up to bed. 'Night, you two."

"Goodnight," Hermione replied as Harry picked himself up and headed up the boys' stairs. "I should go sleep as well," she said to no one in particular, but Ron seemed to take the comment as being directed at him.

"Well, goodnight then, Hermione." With a funny look on his face, and a slight red tint to his ears, he put a hand on her arm. "Sleep well." Then he yanked his hand back as though he'd been burned, and bolted up the stairs.

Hermione stared after him in astonishment. What had that been about? Surely he wasn't proclaiming some romantic interest in her—now, after seven years? She sighed. Books were so much easier than boys—they just said what they meant, and were done with it.

The next morning at breakfast, Ron wouldn't meet Hermione's eyes, and when she caught him shooting furtive glances at her, he blushed bright red. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Harry, Ron, we ought to pass out the timetables now," she said, hoping to distract them.

"Have you looked at ours yet?" Harry asked.

"No, why?" Ron replied around a mouthful of food.

"NEWT Potions, first thing this morning," Harry said grimly.

Hermione made a face. "Lovely. A wonderful way to brighten up a morning, don't you think? You should have heard him last night, Ron; he was positively unbearable. He as good as said we killed Draco Malfoy, and he said Harry's only Head Boy because his father was—"

"He said WHAT?" Ron exploded, and Harry motioned for him to hush.

"It's not that big of a deal, Ron," he said hurriedly.

"Yes it is," Hermione felt she had to add. "But we won't talk about if you don't want to. Just so long as you know what he said wasn't true."

Harry nodded absentmindedly, and Hermione wondered if he actually believed her. None of them spoke of Snape again until they arrived in his dungeons later that morning.

The dungeon smelled faintly of mildew and smoke and some blend of unknown substances, and the chill damp in the air was a sensation Hermione could never fail to associate with Snape's vicious temper and verbal attacks. The room was slowly filling; NEWT-level classes included students from all four Houses—and Snape's NEWT-level potions only had the very best of each. Nearly every student there was a Prefect—Hermione, Harry, and Ron were the only Gryffindors. Nearly every Ravenclaw seventh-year was there, though, and two Hufflepuffs, and a few Slytherins, whose numbers included Greengrass and Nott, but not, to Hermione's great appreciation, Crabbe, Goyle, or Millicent Bulstrode.

All the students were paired together, but there were an odd number, and Hermione was more than willing to work alone. She was setting up her equipment and ingredients around her cauldron when Snape stalked in, robes billowing behind him.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, you have, some of you against my better judgment, elected to take a second year of NEWT-level potions. None of you would be here if he or she did not possess at least some bare ability, but some," he glared at Harry as he said this, "are here more on the Headmaster's recommendation than on their own merit. You already know that I do not grade lightly; in this class, I expect the highest quality work imaginable, and nothing but work that meets my own brewing standards will come away from here with an Outstanding grade.

"Potions are a delicate and subtle art, and I expect only the highest from you. On the board you will see instructions for an Imperishability Potion, instructions that were part of the required summer reading. As an opening exercise, I want each pair of you to brew this potion—correctly—and turn in a sample to me by the end of class. You may begin."

He strode over to the large desk at the fore of the room and sat down, scanning the room idly. "Granger, where's your partner?" he asked.

"There are an odd number of students, sir," she explained tentatively, feeling slightly nervous at being put on the spot.

"And you attempt to show off by working alone rather than joining another pair," he sneered at her. "Admirable."

Hermione felt a twist in her stomach at the accusation. Had she been showing off? Still, she reminded herself, she shouldn't let him get to her. "I will be glad to join another group if you would like, Professor," she said coldly.

"No, no," he replied lazily, "we shall allow the talent Head Girl her chance to shine. Continue."

Fuming inwardly, Hermione did so, scanning the instructions on the board quickly. And then, frowning, she did so again. She remembered reading the instructions for the Imperishability Potion, and these were not them. The instructions written on the board in Snape's angular scrawl—and labeled Imperishability Potion—were for a fairly simple healing potion that had been in the supplementary reading from the previous year. Her hand shot up.

"Professor Snape, these instructions are—"

"Silence, Miss Granger," he snapped, "you're interrupting the other students. Make the Imperishability Potion and _be silent!_ I've no interest in seeing your pitiful attempts to show off."

Shocked, Hermione obeyed, tightened her lips, and set about attempting to brew the Imperishability Potion, sans instructions. She wondered if it was a test, or if Snape had actually made a mistake, but whatever the case, she'd brew the bloody potion he'd asked for.

A few people looked at her strangely when she tossed a scoop of beetle eyes into her cauldron, and a few more people eyed her sideways when the smoke pouring from her cauldron began to glow a garish purple, but Hermione ignored them, and set about making the potion.

Hermione had to admit it wasn't perfect. She knew she was smart, and at the top of her class, but not even the smartest witch could remember every amount of every ingredient in the exact order, of a potion she'd only read the instructions for once.

The Imperishability Potion, she also realized halfway through the class period, was significantly more complicated than the healing potion Snape for which Snape had given the instructions, as well, and she was now severely feeling the lack of a brewing partner. By the end of the period, Hermione had almost finished her potion, and the rest of the class was lounging by their cauldrons, each full of a successfully made Healing Draughts.

Snape stood up. "If you could all bottle samples of your potions please?" he said, sounding bored.

Hermione raised her hand tentatively, ignoring the rest of the class, who were staring at her as though she had lost her mind.

"What, Granger?" Snape snapped, sounding as though he'd rather be doing anything else than answering her question.

"Sir, I haven't finished my potion yet. May I stay after class for a few minutes?"

The class had, by this time, gone from staring to open-jawed amazement.

Snape stalked over to her and looked in her cauldron. "What, may I ask, is this, Miss Granger?"

"Partially completed Imperishability Potion, sir," she answered faintly. He was looming over her—actually looming; Hermione had always thought that was a figure of speech. It made her stomach churn.

Snape squinted at the purple syrup bubbling in Hermione's cauldron. A strange expression crossed his face, and Hermione wondered if she had finally managed to impress him. All of sudden, his face broke into a sneer, and Hermione felt her heart sink. "You may finish this, Miss Granger, in detention this evening. Nine o'clock, here in my classroom." He pulled out his wand and cast a Stasis Charm on the unfinished potion, freezing a large bubble halfway through popping. He spun away from her.

"A lovely start-of-term for this year's Head Girl, don't you think?" he said to no one in particular. "The rest of you bottle a sample of your potions, and leave them on my desk. Class dismissed." Without another word, and leaving the class open-mouthed, he strode out the classroom, robes billowing behind him.

* * *

Enjoyed? Please review! 

Notes to reviewers:

**Dafina:** Thanks again! It's lovely to have a faithful reader!

**Magic and sparkle:** Thanks for reviewing! I like the word dunderhead too- when JKR comes up with such wonderful words, it's to our benefit that we use them!

**Caeria:** Thanks, and nice to hear from you. I certainly hope that I'll manage to finish it; I'm really writing this for novel-length experience, and it would very much defeat the purpose if I didn't actually end it. Hope you like it enough to keep reading!


	4. Detention and Dueling

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SSHG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: Thanks again to beautifulrain, my lovely beta.

* * *

"That bastard!" Ron exploded, the instant they were out of the classroom. Hermione couldn't help but look over her shoulder to make certain Snape hadn't heard; he had unusually good hearing whenever salacious comments and snide remarks were concerned (though he seemed to be rather deaf to protests and complaints directed at him). Luckily, he didn't seem to have heard. 

"Technically, it's a fair requirement," Hermione pointed out. "I mean, it was rather nasty of him to make that Head Girl comment, but it's perfectly acceptable for a teacher to request a student come for detention to finish classwork. I've done it for McGonagall before."

"I bet she didn't call it a detention, though," Ron pointed out—accurately, Hermione had to admit.

"But that's not really the important question," Harry said. "Why on earth didn't you finish the potion, Hermione? I swear that was the easiest assignment Snape's ever given. And, for that matter, why was your potion purple?"

"What potion did you make, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry looked at her as though she'd run mad. "An Imperishability Potion, Hermione," he answered slowly.

"Think back to the textbook—you did read it, didn't you?—and remember what the primary ingredient is in an Imperishability Potion is, Harry," Hermione replied.

His brow furrowed. "But—there weren't any scarab eyes in the instructions Snape gave," Harry said, puzzled.

"That's because the instructions on the board weren't for an Imperishability Potion," Hermione replied grimly. "What you all made was a Healing Draught. I made an Imperishability Potion. Not a very good one, I'm afraid, but—"

"That _bastard_!" Ron repeated with great vehemence.

"You mean he gave us instructions to the wrong potion?" Harry asked, sounding outraged.

"I can't tell if he did it on purpose or not," Hermione said. "I think he did, because when I was about to ask about it he told me to be quiet—I think so that I wouldn't give it away."

"Pretty rotten prank, don't you think?" Ron asked, sounding outraged. "Trying to fail all of us just to be spiteful."

"I don't think he was doing it to be spiteful," Hermione said. "It was probably some sort of test—to see who was paying attention, or who'd actually read the text, or who remembered the potions we'd done last year, or something. Though he probably will fail you all for the day. He's like that," she added.

"Damn," commented Ron expressively.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It isn't the end of the world, you know."

"You're not the one who's probably going to fail," Ron pointed out.

Hermione brushed a wisp of hair off of her face. "I don't know, Ron. Maybe I'm the one who's going to fail—for not following instructions, or something like that. Snape's not the most predictable man there is."

"That's the understatement of the day," Harry said with a dry laugh.

The three were fast approaching the library, and Hermione broke away from the two boys. "I'm going to go look up the Imperishability Potion—it can't hurt, and maybe I can figure out where I went wrong so that I can fix it."

"All right, well, we'll see you at dinner then," Harry replied, and Hermione, already distracted, made a noncommittal sound.

"See you later, Hermione," Ron added. "Um…"

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, and his ears turned pink. Harry shot him an unimpressed look, rolled his eyes towards Hermione, and led Ron off.

She forgot all about Ron's unsubtle behavior in less than a minute as she pulled out her Potions book from her satchel and began flipping pages to the large spread about Imperishability Potions. She scanned the ingredients list first, making certain that she hadn't added anything superfluous, which likely would have made the potion unsalvageable anyway. No, but she'd added far too much crushed bloodroot—it could be balanced out with kelp juice, though; she'd make sure to bring some when she went to the detention.

The detention. Though she had defended Snape's actions to Ron, she had to admit that he'd gotten on her nerves. What right did he have to treat her like that? She'd remembered almost all of a very difficult potion, and made it—almost completely—without instructions. You'd think the man could show the faintest bit of admiration—though Hermione had to admit that his initial reaction had been slightly satisfying.

Hermione looked back down at the textbook. Then looked again. She blinked. The last ingredient of the Imperishability Potion was unicorn's sweat—incredibly rare and certainly not part of any student's Potions kit. She had none, though she didn't doubt that Snape did, in his private stores.

Well, that made for an interesting question, didn't it. Not only had Snape asked for a potion with the wrong instructions, he'd asked for a potion that would be impossible for any student to make without access to his private stores. What on earth was the man getting at? Hermione shook her head. Far be it from her to attempt to puzzle out the mannerisms of Severus Snape. She turned her attention back to the book.

It was five minutes to nine when Hermione arrived outside the door to the Potions classroom that night. Professor Snape was nowhere to be seen, though her potion still sat immobile on a table in the back. She briefly considered casting a _Finite Incantatum _on it herself, but thought better of it, as Snape hated students casting spells in his classroom.

With a sigh, Hermione sat down to wait.

Unwritten Hogwarts rule stated that if a professor was more than fifteen minutes late for a class, it was acceptable for the students to assume the class was cancelled and leave. Twenty minutes after nine, Hermione was beginning to wonder if the same rule applied for detentions. Snape was nowhere to be found—Hermione had even dared to go into his office, and knock on the door to his personal chambers, but there'd been no answer. She sighed, pulled her transfigurations book out of her satchel, and settled down to read. Snape's disappearance wasn't doing anything to calm her nerves, and she already had to complete a partially misbrewed potion with ingredients she didn't even have.

The engrossing theory chapters in the transfigurations text absorbed Hermione enough that at first she didn't hear the door of the classroom opening. It wasn't until she heard Snape's, "Miss Granger, what the bloody—" that she looked up, startled.

"You asked me to come for detention, Sir." She broke off suddenly. The light in the dungeon was fairly dim, and shadows played across Snape's face, but he looked—odd. Was that—_sunburn?—_that tinged his face an unhealthy-looking reddish-pink? It looked painful, whatever it was, and Hermione wondered if she should leave.

"Ah, yes. Your bloody Imperishability Potion," Snape sneered, and he seemed even nastier than usual, if that was even possible. "Finite Incantatum." The potion began bubbling again. "I shall be in my office. You may inform me when the potion is finished."

"Sir…is…is everything all right?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"_Yes_, Miss Granger," Snape hissed. "Make the bloody potion and get out of here."

"Sir, I need unicorn sweat to complete the potion."

Snape was silent for a moment. "Miss Granger, unicorn's sweat is a very rare commodity."

"Then why, sir, did you ask me to make a potion that requires it?" Hermione asked, trying to keep her voice from showing any anger.

There was another long silence, during which Snape appeared to be grinding his teeth. "Miss Granger, as you have determined both that the potion for which I gave instructions was not the potion which I requested, and also determined that unicorn's sweat is an ingredient in said potion, you are obviously more intelligent than I gave you credit for. Surely you can use that intelligence to postulate possible reasons why I might have done so?"

"Because you didn't expect anyone to complete the correct potion, sir?" Hermione asked, and couldn't quite keep a sarcastic note from her voice.

"That would indeed be an accurate assumption, Miss Granger."

Hermione now stayed silent for a moment, looking consideringly at Snape. "What would you like me to do? Complete the potion, so that I can receive credit? Or would you prefer to give me credit even though I haven't yet finished?"

Snape's face almost seemed to be twisting. "Miss Granger, what would you like to hear? That you've won? Very well, you have. You may have full credit for the bloody potion." A slow, ugly smile spread on his burnt face. "But I'm taking ten points from Gryffindor for not following the instructions on the board. Head Girl."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. "You—but—you—"

"Good evening, Miss Granger."

The man was infuriating. And rude. And vindictive, and just generally unpleasant. But Hermione was damned if she wasn't going to prove she was a better person than him. "Sir, since I'm here anyway, is there anything you want me to make for a detention? A Sunburn Potion, perhaps?" She smiled sweetly. Well, that hadn't exactly been the most philanthropic comment. But it had most certainly felt good.

Snape's face, if it was possible, went even redder. And redder. And Hermione realized that she might have made a miscalculation somewhere. Snape appeared to be undergoing some intense internal debate. Did he actually _need_ help? Did he think that because she'd been a bit snarky in offering it, he couldn't accept help from her?

"Sir, I didn't mean—I mean, if you need help, I'll be glad to brew something— "

Hermione had the feeling that he'd have almost preferred the verbal sparring than her attempts to be nice. But he gave a curt nod. "An Aether Burn Potion, Miss Granger. It was part of the fifth-year curriculum, if you'll recall. I shall be in my office."

The potion, Hermione recalled as he disappeared into the office and shut the door loudly behind him, was fairly simple, but required a very hot flame that would be no doubt painful on already burnt skin, and finely chopped ingredients that would be difficult to manage when tired. She set up another cauldron as quickly as she could, and set about brewing.

It was nearly midnight before she'd finished. She bottled the potion, labeled it neatly, packed up her cauldron, and went to deliver it to Snape. She only rapped lightly on the office door before opening it, and, when she looked in, she realized that he'd not heard her. He had a stack of third-year essays in front of him, and he was marking them in angry red pen, but his face was twisted and he was clearly in pain.

She cleared her throat, and he jumped. He turned on her with a look of rage on her face, and Hermione held the bottles of potion out before her like a shield.

"Put them on my desk, Miss Granger, and then get out of here."

She obeyed instantly, and darted from the room, deeply disconcerted. She had to admit she was upset at the lack of recognition—she'd worked hard at the potion, and she'd entertained fantasies about Snape admitting his gratitude, lauding her for her talents, telling her of a certain future as a Potions Mistress. Not realistic fantasies, she had to admit, but a simple 'thank you' would have been nice. But worse had been how out of character Snape had been—how badly must he have been hurt to deign to ask her—a Gryffindor, the hated know-it-all—for help?

Hermione sighed. She didn't even want to consider how Snape would have managed to acquire serious Aether burns. She collapsed into bed, exhausted, and decided to think about it in the morning.

Only, as it turned out, there wasn't time in the morning. Hermione slept until Lavender and Parvati left for breakfast, snapped at both of them when they tried to wake her up, and ended up rushing into Defense Against the Dark Arts with the bell, hair uncombed and clothes untidy.

Tonks was at the front of the class already, and she motioned for Hermione to sit down. She quickly grabbed the last empty seat in the room, the farthest to the front, directly in front of Harry.

"Good morning, class. I'm Professor Tonks, and this is your second year of NEWT-level Defense Against the Dark Arts. I'm here this year because, as you well know, you've had a long string of largely incompetent Professors—with some notable exceptions, of course—and Professor Dumbledore is concerned that you will not be prepared."

"Prepared for what?" Ernie Macmillan, sitting far to the front, a few seats down from Hermione, asked.

"Your NEWTs," Tonks answered. "Or an attack by Lord Voldemort. Either would be extremely difficult for you to respond to with the staggered and incomplete training you've had."

"Oh," Ernie gulped.

"I'm actually an Auror," Tonks continued, "but I've taken a year of leave to come here and teach, at Professor Dumbledore's request."

She went on to shoot a series of questions at the class, each directed at a different student in a manner that was apparently testing each of their strengths and weaknesses. It was engaging, Hermione supposed, but there didn't seem to be much of a point. She knew all the answers to Tonks's questions, and she knew Harry did, too.

After the round of questions, though, Tonks cleared her throat. "Now, the NEWT exam, like your OWLs, will feature not only a written portion, but also a practical exam. Unlike the OWLs, however, the NEWT for Defense Against the Dark Arts will not test your ability to perform specific spells. Rather, it will test your ability to defend yourself against a series of obstacles, creatures, and spells and hexes cast against you. According to Professor Dumbledore, you've been taught the basic principles of dueling, though, from what I gather, with a notable lack of actual practical experience?" She appeared to be directing the question at Harry, and, though Hermione couldn't see him, she assumed he nodded, for Tonks went on.

"Well, since my first duty as a Professor is to assess how each of you can perform, I'm going to ask each one of you to come forward and duel with me." She held up a hand as the class began to protest. "Not entire duels—just a brief exchange of spells. I won't promise you that I won't cast spells you've never heard of before—I'm testing your ability to adapt to situations as well as your prior knowledge—but I won't cast anything I can't undo here, and I'll go lightly on you." Tonks gave a slightly feral grin. "This time." It was, Hermione noticed, the first slip in her professor's façade, the strange new demeanor Hermione had never seen on Tonks before.

"Herm—Miss Granger, would you come up first?" Well, there'd been another slip—understandable, though, since Tonks had never addressed her as anything but 'Hermione' before, and Hermione didn't doubt that she herself would have a hard time remembering the 'Professor' before 'Tonks.'

Hermione stood up. "Of course." She pulled her wand from the pocket of her robes and walked to the front of the classroom to stand opposite her professor. Tonks saluted with her wand, and Hermione, not knowing what else to do, imitated the move.

"Ready?" Tonks asked, raising her eyebrows, and Hermione nodded. Tonks flicked her wand, muttered a spell Hermione couldn't hear, and pointed her wand. A bolt of blue light shot out, and Hermione dived out of the way, hitting the floor of the classroom and rolling away from the desks to give herself room to stand back up. From her prone position, Hermione pointed her wand at Tonks. "_Rictusempra!"_ she shouted. The spell slammed into Tonks, who began giggling but managed to cast a quick "_Locomotor Mortis_" on Hermione, who brought her legs up in front of her face, stunning them but leaving the rest of her body free to move.

Using her numb legs as a shield, Hermione aimed at the still-laughing Tonks. "_Saxibarrista_!" she enunciated, not entirely certain the unfamiliar spell would work. It did, though; a number of small pebbles appeared out of midair and flung themselves in the direction Hermione had pointed.

"_Abigo_!" Tonks shouted—a Banishing Charm—and the rocks reversed direction and flung themselves towards Hermione. She repeated the Banishment, launching the stones away from her and into the wall, then tried to think up another hex. Tonks was faster, though. While Hermione was banishing the stones, she spoke out clearly, "_Incarcerous_."

Hermione was instantly wrapped in thick ropes, but she pulled her hand free quickly. "_Finite Incantatum_!" The ropes flickered and vanished.

"Lovely, Hermione!" Tonks exclaimed, forgetting to address her as teacher to student, though Hermione, panting and sore from hitting the floor, hardly cared. Tonks had barely broken a sweat. "That was excellent! Good, quick thinking; I'm impressed.

"In fact, I want to turn this into a teaching moment. Did everyone see how Hermione just dodged my first hex? That's always a good strategy, though it might have been wiser to roll towards the desks, to get some cover."

"I was trying to get enough room to stand back up," Hermione explained.

"Good reasoning," Tonks agreed. "Now, to continue, Miss Granger's choice of a return hex was an interesting idea. Sometimes it's necessary to go on the offensive in order to defend yourself—now, in the case of those rocks you conjured, that wasn't the best idea, as it was easy for me to turn the spell back on you, giving me more time to react. In fact, it's rarely a good idea to conjure physical objects in a Wizard's Duel, as once they've left your wand, they simply exist, and can be used against you as easily as in your favor. Spells are much easier to control.

"Hermione was also successful in using a very clever trick to avoid being fully Stunned—you can use part of your body to protect another part. In fact, it's often a good idea to protect your wand arm at all costs in battle, as you can keep fighting as long as you're conscious and have a wand and a hand to use it with. Excellent job, Miss Granger!" She helped Hermione to her feet and gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before gesturing for her to sit back down. "Now, who's next? Mr. Macmillan?"

As exhausted as Hermione now felt, it was a considerable boost to her ego that no one else managed to even hold his or her own against Tonks. The vast majority of the class ended up Stunned or Bound by Tonks's first spell, and even those few who managed to erect shaky shields or dodge the initial attack were quickly dispatched, even the few Slytherins who attempted semi-Dark hexes against her.

Harry was the last to go before the class, and Hermione had no doubt that this had been Tonks's intention. In fact, Hermione realized, the older woman was looking slightly nervous about dueling him. Hermione didn't blame her, really—the boy was seventeen and had already survived a duel with Voldemort himself, gone into combat against adult Death Eaters, and killed an enemy he was engaging, if by accident.

They stood opposite each other for a moment, before Tonks said, "Ready, Harry?" He nodded, and the duel began.

Tonks began by launching a lightning bolt from her wand, straight at Harry. His eyes widened, and suddenly a glowing shield of shimmering light appeared before him, absorbing the lightning. He began shooting Stunners at Tonks at a rapid pace, and she dodged behind the heavy oaken teacher's desk for cover. She leapt up, and a net of green light suddenly appeared in the air, sweeping towards Harry. He shot a Blocking Spell at it, but the net floated right through, and Harry dived under a nearby desk, which was quickly enveloped by the green light. Harry quickly rolled out from under it, but the net stayed where it was, apparently stuck in the wood. He leapt to his feet and launched a Binding Hex at Tonks, who dodged it and, looking grim, made a strange wiggling motion with her wand.

The room _changed._ Everything was suddenly where it wasn't, and Hermione's head was spinning, a sentiment obviously echoed by the rest of the class, most of whom cried out when the odd change happened. Through the corner of her left eye, Hermione saw Susan Bones faint and slide limply from her chair. Only that didn't make sense; Susan was sitting to her right.

Hermione looked down at the book in front of her—the letters on the cover were _backwards_—no, she realized, looking closer, they were the mirror image of the original. Tonks's spell must have visually reversed the room. Hermione saw the realization grow on Harry's face too, and he began shooting spells towards wherever Tonks _wasn't_, to the opposite of where she appeared to be. The entire operation made Hermione dizzy.

With a sudden fizzle of magic, one of Harry's spells connected, and the room returned to normal with a sickening visual lurch. Tonks lay Stunned on the floor, and Harry cast a shaky Reviving Charm on her as the class burst into applause.

Tonks sat up, looking dizzy, and her face flickered through a few different forms before she got it under control. "That was excellent, Harry!" she exclaimed, a grin spreading on her face. "But then I didn't expect anything less from you." She patted him on the shoulder. "Brilliant job. Class dismissed now, and really, good job, all of you!"

Ron shot Harry a huge smile as they walked out. "That was brilliant, mate! That spell—"

Hermione was more interested in watching the other students—even the Slytherins looked impressed, and Theodore Nott looked suddenly worried. The other Hufflepuff girls had revived Susan Bones, and Tonks had handed her a glass of water and was telling her to go to the Hospital Wing if she felt dizzy at all later.

"Are you coming, Hermione?" Harry asked, but she shook her head.

"I just want to talk to Tonks for a minute," she explained. "I'll see you in the common room later."

She followed Tonks back into her office, where the Metamorphmagus turned to face her. "Wotcher, Hermione?"

Hermione's face was set. "I want to know what's going on."

* * *

Enjoyed? Leave a review! 

Notes to reviewers:

**DuchessofPower:** Thanks for reading! I'll let you know when the chapters go up!

**AngelApple70x7:** Thanks! Updates should be fairly regular and about weekly.

**Magic and sparkle:** Thanks! You'll see about Ron and Hermione soon enough!

**Dafina:** Thanks very much, I really apreciate your thoughtful reviews. I love Remus/Sirius too, though I haven't gotten around to writing any yet- it's such a quietly _sad_ pairing, with so much loss and grief all around, that's it's a tough one to write. And obviously, I love Hermione/Severus.

**I-LUV-ILC:** Thanks for reviewing! Yeah, Hermione has a bit of a temper in the books I think, and I like seeing it brought out in fic.

**The Eternal Dreamer:** Hope this was soon enough for you! Keep reading!

**katharine 1: **Thanks very much for a well-thought-out and constructive review. I know what you mean about being "flabby," it's something I'm really trying to work on. This version of the fic is really a rough experiment- when I finish it, I want to put a fully betaed and edited version up on Schnoogle or Ashwinder, and I'll hopefully be able to make it better. Also, because the fic is told from Hermione's point of view, I try and make the narrative a little bit wordy, because it's the way I imagine she sees things--which is probably the cause of at least part of what you described. As for other authors who write well, I suppose it depends on what you like. I don't read much on this website; I prefer Fiction Alley because it has application standards and the moderators edit each story before it's posted. My all-time favorite fanfics are Cassandra Claire's "Draco Trilogy," Cedar's "Symphonie Fantastique," and Casirafic's "In the Turning," all of which you can likely find if you google search for them. Also, if you go to Fiction Alley's masterlist, at "www dot fictionalley dot org / fictionalleypark / forums / showthread dot php ?s &threadid 78934 ", (delete the spaces and replace "dot" with periods) you can find some of the best fics on the internet. And if you want more recs, feel free to email me.

**queenie:** Well, I hope this was soon enough! I'll probably have weekly updates or so.


	5. A Talk With Ron

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SS+HG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

* * *

"Hermione," Tonks said, looking frustrated, "Dumbledore has entrusted me to keep you safe. Safety doesn't really include giving you information on the workings of the Order of the Phoenix." 

"He said he didn't want us kept in ignorance," Hermione couldn't help but point out.

"He didn't mean giving you tactical information, and you know that full well."

Hermione decided to try a different tack. "Tonks, I had detention with Snape last night, and he came in late and covered with Aether burns. He asked for my help, and you know that's not like him. I just want to know what happened to him."

Tonks looked back at her through narrowed eyes. "Strange of you to start caring about Severus Snape all of a sudden. Hermione, I'm an Auror. I'm an Order member. You're not going to get me to tell you anything. You can sit here talking at me for the rest of the day, but it won't change that."

"Can't you just tell me a little bit? The things that anyone would know?"

Tonks shook her head. "The vast majority of what I know, Hermione, is classified information. I know that Snape was attempting some sort of conversation with djinni—he's been working on different translation potions to be able to speak with them for weeks now. I would imagine the Aether burns came from that somehow. There's a tidbit of knowledge for you, all right?"

"Is that it?" Hermione asked. "What was he doing? Why djinni? What's Dumbledore planning?"

Tonks held up a hand, and Hermione fell silent. "You need to understand that there's a reason you three aren't being made Order members. We know you want to help. We know you're powerful—you saw Harry beat me in a duel not ten minutes ago. But the ways you can help aren't by trying to piece together Dumbledore's overarching plans. Help by being a trustworthy Head Girl so that the students will follow you if a crisis comes. Help by getting Harry to reform the DA—I'll even supervise it as an official club if he wants—because we need you all to have all the experience you can. Help by watching the other students, looking for suspicious behavior, or for those who are sympathetic to us and want the chance to help. But it won't do any good for you to know what Dumbledore is planning—whatever it may be, it won't be something you'll be able to take a part in."

Hermione nodded. "I want to know what's going on, Tonks, but I'll do as you say. I'll talk to Harry about the DA—I'm sure he'll be willing to put it back together."

"Good," Tonks said. "Look, and if you want to help Professor Snape, you could always talk to him."

Hermione shook her head vehemently. "No thank you. I'd like to keep Gryffindor's points total in the positive, thank you."

"Good point," Tonks laughed. "Now, seriously, I want you to think about something. Professor Dumbledore doesn't always work the way we would expect him to. Consider that maybe his plans rest on you, or Harry, not knowing what they are at the present moment. Know that you are a part of his equation—he knows you're on our side and want to help. And trust him. Trust us. Please."

Hermione nodded again. "I can do that—for now, anyway."

"Good. Now, I believe you're due in Herbology, so off you get."

Hermione picked up her satchel. As she walked towards the door, she turned back to Tonks. "Thanks for listening, anyway."

Tonks grinned. "Sure."

By the time Hermione had sat through a long Herbology lecture about the properties of several shrub and tree varieties whose sap proved useful in potions, then waited patiently through Professor Grubbly-Plank's Care of Magical Creatures class, she had nearly forgotten about the advice Tonks had given. Grubbly-Plank, who had taken over the NEWT-level classes while Hagrid went on inexplicable forays into the Forbidden Forest—Hermione could only assume it involved his giant younger brother Grawp—had brought in cages of completely nonmagical insects—butterflies and scarabs, which apparently, though not innately magical, held magical properties under the right circumstances. Hermione had been fascinated. Grubbly-Plank had explained that many of these insects were mythical or literary symbols in the Muggle world because of the magical properties they held—butterflies' perfectly mundane ability to change forms over the course of its life cycle, for example, made them a symbol of what Grubbly-Plank called "the circle of life," the cyclical nature of being. However, it also made butterflies potent potions ingredients—and there was even one story of a witch who had kept a butterfly familiar.

By the time she, Harry, and Ron had trudged back up to the Gryffindor Common Room, Hermione wanted nothing more than to collapse on one of the cushy scarlet sofas and read by the firelight. She sat down hard, and Ron collapsed down beside her.

"Harry, can't we just take a quick break before Quidditch?" Ron groaned. Hermione had almost forgotten—the boys were co-captaining the Gryffindor Quidditch team this year. It hadn't been something she'd been paying attention to, in the mad opening rush of classes.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Good plan. I'm just going to put my books upstairs, and I'll be back down." He disappeared up the boys' staircase.

Ron and Hermione sat in silence for a moment. Ron seemed to want to speak; he kept opening his mouth and closing it again, and his ears were turning pink once again.

Hermione sighed inwardly. "Ron, is there something you want?" She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to know. He'd been acting like the boys in books did when they were pining over a girl, and Hermione sincerely hoped that he wasn't romantically interested in her. When Victor had asked her to the Yule Ball in fourth year, she'd read several books on modern wizarding dating—a few scientific, and a few, well, not so much. _How to Snare the Wizard of Your Dreams_ had been educational, though, to say the least.

Ron was still gaping like a fish stranded on the sand, and Hermione felt she really had to spare him his discomfort. "Ron?"

"Er…I was just wondering…if you…if you wanted to go to the next Hogsmeade weekend with me?"

Well. This was something that the books had neglected to mention. What on Merlin's name did you do when one of your oldest friends spontaneously decided he fancied you? More importantly, Hermione wondered, as she imagined kissing Ron and felt her stomach lurch at the thought, what did you do when you didn't fancy him back?

She said the first thing that came into her head. "Ron, we go to every Hogsmeade weekend together."

Probably not the best idea. Now she was forcing him to say what he meant. Not that it didn't make it easier for her, but now he'd be even more uncomfortable.

"I meant…er…together. Just us. You know, like, a date, I reckon. It seems like…the right thing to do."

Hermione still had no idea what to say. "Ron—what—why are you suddenly asking me this?"

"Well," he stammered, "I mean, everybody seems to think we should…get together. So, I thought—I mean—"

"Ron, do you fancy me?" Hermione jaw suddenly dropped open as she realized what she had asked. She was fairly certain that neither How _to Snare the Wizard of Your Dreams_ or _Witches and Wizards_ _Today_ had advocated the…er…direct approach. At least, not quite that direct. "I didn't actually mean that," Hermione hurriedly corrected. "I meant, er, that it sounded like you thought we should—date—because everyone says we should, and not because you fancy me or anything."

Ron, of all things, looked relieved. "So you understand, then?" _What?_ Hermione felt her head spinning. How in Merlin's name did Lavender and Parvati deal with this sort of—of drama on a regular basis? For that matter, what in Merlin's name was Ron talking about? Then it suddenly clicked.

"Is that—is that what you mean? You don't actually fancy me, but you asked me on a date because everyone's been saying we should?"

Ron flushed again. "It seemed like a good idea," he said miserably. "I reckoned maybe—you know, since everyone was saying we fight so much, we must actually be in love or something—maybe that we ought to try and see, and we'd—get to like each other or something. Not that I don't like you," he added quickly. "Just not like that."

"Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed. "It's very sweet of you, but I don't think dating is actually supposed to work that way. I think of you like my brother; it'd be—" she made a face "—_weird_ to date you."

Harry clattered back down the stairs, sans satchel and books. He looked at Ron and Hermione, both still blushing fiercely, and rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you two were talking about dating?"

"No!" Ron exclaimed, just as Hermione said, "Yes!"

"But not—I mean, not about us dating. We're not. Dating, I mean. We…er…decided against it." Hermione explained awkwardly, wishing fiercely that there was some book, somewhere, that told girls how to deal with this sort of thing without blushing.

Harry grinned. "Good. Because, not to insult you two or anything, but you'd be terrible for each other. Plus it would be weird. I mean, we were best friends before we even noticed you were a girl, Hermione."

"Yeah," Ron sighed. "I know. But I'm a bloody idiot sometimes. Let's go play Quidditch."

"Wait!" Hermione suddenly exclaimed. "I almost forgot! I talked to Tonks after class, and she wanted to know if you'd be willing to restart the DA. She said she'd sponsor it—as a club or whatever—if you wanted. But I bet you'd have to let in Slytherins if you did that." She frowned. "But that's not the point. Do you think you'd want to?"

Harry looked startled and, for a moment reminded Hermione very much of a trapped animal. "Hermione—I don't know."

"You like teaching," she pointed out.

He shrugged. "But I don't like being the center of attention."

Ron seemed to have recovered from his previous crushing embarrassment. "Mate, it'd be brilliant! I mean, it's a way to help out against You-Know-Who—"

"Voldemort," Harry correctly absentmindedly.

"Whatever," Hermione said. "The point is—and Tonks even said this—the best thing we can do to help is to have everyone prepared if something happens. I mean, if Voldemort ever attacks, we all have to be able to do what we can against him. And, well, you're the best there is."

"I'm not really," Harry said uncomfortably. "It's—it sounds like a good idea, but it'll be so much work, too. Did you think about that?"

"I'll do lesson plans for you if you want, Harry," Hermione offered. "The real problems will be what to do with a secret defense organization that's suddenly legitimate. I mean, what will we do with the Galleons and so forth?"

"Does Tonks know about that?" Ron asked.

"I doubt it," Harry replied. "But you're right. I'll talk to her. It may turn out that we still keep it a secret—or invitation only, or something like that."

"Not to mention the Slytherins are hardly going to want lessons from you, mate," Ron pointed out.

Hermione laughed. "Good point. Can you imagine Crabbe and Goyle taking orders from Harry?"

Even Harry smiled at that. "We'll see. I'll talk to Tonks. But I mean, I'm not even a teacher, you know? I'm not qualified—"

"Harry," Hermione interrupted seriously, "you beat a trained Auror in a duel this morning."

There was a silence for a moment, during which Hermione realized that Harry hadn't considered that before. She didn't blame him; she'd barely thought about it herself. Tonks had given them dueling advice before, but really she'd just been a friend hanging about Grimmauld Place, another person about their age against whom they could practice. The implications of Harry's victory that morning had taken a while to sink in.

"Mate," Ron said, his voice quiet, "you're the best there is."

Harry gave a shaky smile. "Thanks, you two. Now—seriously, this time—let's go play Quidditch."

The two were halfway out the portrait hole when a cry came from the boy's dormitories. They both paused.

"That sounded like Seamus," Harry said, and then in a flash he and Ron shot towards the stairs, Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, following close behind.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Seamus, eyebrows singed and looking shell-shocked, staggered out of the seventh-year dorm. "Harry," he gasped, "I didn't even see what happened. It just exploded." He held open the door, and the four of them filed into the room.

It was a disaster. Harry's giant four-poster bed was a smoldering ruin of charred logs around what looked like—a blast radius? It was as if there had been an explosion in the center of the bed and the entire thing had caught alight. The remains of the bed were soaked liberally with water, which had begun to seep into in the carpet, pooling by the window.

"What the bloody hell happened?" Ron said finally.

"It just—exploded," Seamus explained, looking frightened. "The whole thing caught on fire—I conjured water to put it out; it was the first thing I could think of."

Harry just stood staring. "My bag was lying in the center of the bed. I just sat it down and went back downstairs."

A scrap of fabric caught on one of the smoldering, splintered bedposts caught Hermione's eye, and she picked it up—a scorched piece of the scarlet canvas Harry's satchel had been made of. "Look," she said, holding it out to him.

Ron gestured at something in the charred mess. "There're pages from your Herbology textbook in that mess. Ripped apart." Hermione looked where he was pointing. The paper was so blackened it was hardly legible, but one scrap still clearly read "Pine species and their magical usages."

"Exploding Hex," Harry finally pronounced.

Hermione shivered. Harry's voice sounded dead. "I'm getting McGonagall," she declared, and, when no one moved to stop her, fled from the room.

She plunged straight into the Transfiguration Professor's third-year class. McGonagall was halfway through a sentence when Hermione barged through the door.

"Miss Granger?" she asked. "What on earth—"

"Someone tried to kill Harry," Hermione gasped out, heedless of the younger students' ears. "There's a fire in the dormitory—"

"Class dismissed," McGonagall said curtly, and followed Hermione upstairs, surprisingly quickly for her weathered appearance. She barged into the room and scrutinized the scene, shaking her head.

"Do you have any idea what might have caused this?" she asked finally.

"An Exploding Hex cast on my bag," Harry replied. "I'm not sure what triggered it."

"I will summon Professor Dumbledore to help me cast a diagnostic on the remains," McGonagall said. "In the meantime, I want all of you out of this dormitory."

The four Gryffindors didn't even bother complaining; they knew their Head of House too well. They went silently into the common room, and sat without speaking 'till dawn.

* * *

Notes to Reviewers:**  
**

**Dafina:** Thanks for another lovely, thoughtful review. I hope you keep liking my version of Snape- he's a strange combination of teachers I've hated and the sort of person I think Hermione would fall in love with. Which I find very intruiging.

**I-LUV-ILC: ** Thanks! "Wotcher" is just a sort of catchphrase that Tonks uses in the books - sort of a British "What's up?" I think.

**Fiona McKinnon:** Thank you! Keep on reading and I hope you enjoy!

**Magic and sparkle:** Thanks! I'm definitely getting some romance in eventually, but I'm having fun building up the plot, too. Look for a lot more Snape in the next few chapters!


	6. After Potions Class

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SS+HG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: You all asked for more Snape! Also, many thanks to my lovely beta, beautifulrain.

* * *

Hermione, Harry, Ron, and Seamus sat silently in the Common Room. There didn't seem to be anything to say, really. They were interrupted by the portrait hole opening—Professor Dumbledore stepped through, followed closely by Snape.

She saw Harry's mouth tighten at the sight of Snape, but he said nothing. Dumbledore scanned the Common Room quickly, his eyes stopping on the four seventh-years. Snape too was scanning the room, but he seemed more interested in the scarlet and gold trappings, at which he curled his lip, than in the Gryffindor students.

Dumbledore, however, was looking intently at Harry. "Mr. Potter," he asked, "before we go examine the site of the explosion, I wanted to ask you what you think might have caused it."

"It was an Exploding Hex, Sir," Harry replied.

Snape shot Harry an angry look. "And how precisely do you know that, Mr. Potter?"

"Well," Harry replied evenly, "the blast pattern certainly seemed to match one—and I can't really think of another reason why my bed would spontaneously explode."

"Mr. Potter," Snape snapped, "you may not—"

"That will be fine, Severus," Professor Dumbledore interrupted, the twinkle in his eye looking almost—annoyed? "We shall go inspect the site now. Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, if the two of you would be so kind as to inform Mr. Thomas and Mr. Longbottom to stay out of the dormitory when they return?"

"Of course, Professor," Hermione answered quickly, and pretended not to have seen Snape roll his eyes at it. Both he and Professor Dumbledore disappeared up the stairs, and Ron let out an angry sigh.

"That git. What's his bloody problem, anyway?"

"He hated my father," Harry replied absently. "I think he's just sort of decided to transfer the hatred onto me."

"That's awful!" Seamus exclaimed.

"Well I think the fact that he hates Gryffindors rather factors into the problem as well," Hermione pointed out wryly.

Harry laughed—and Hermione felt her heart rise a little bit. He'd had that terrible resignation in his eyes after seeing the explosion, but it was gone now, and there was a smile in his eyes again.

The portrait swung open again and Neville and Dean stepped through, talking animatedly. They were walking towards the staircase when Harry interrupted nervously.

"Er…guys?"

"What?" Dean asked.

"You can't go up there now," Harry said. "There was sort of an accident."

"An accident?" asked Neville, uncomprehending.

"Oh, honestly, Harry," Hermione signed, interrupting him. "You could at least explain. Someone cast an Exploding Hex on Harry's bag, and it blew up his bed in the dormitory, and Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall and Snape are all up there trying to get everything sorted and they told you boys to stay out."

There was a silence.

"Professor Snape is in our room?" Neville finally asked.

"Someone tried to kill Harry?" Dean said, almost on top of him.

Harry nodded. "Yes, and yes. Sorry Neville," he added with a crooked, rather half-hearted grin.

"S'ok," Neville said. "But Harry, that's terrible! Who would do that?" He paused for a minute. "Well, I mean, of course You-Know-Who, but he's not in the school, right? If he was he probably wouldn't have bothered with an Exploding Hex."

"No," Harry agreed, "he wouldn't. And I don't think it's him, or even a Death Eater. I think it's a student. Maybe working for Voldemort—I don't know."

"Why a student, mate?" Ron asked, looking sideways at Harry.

"Because of what happened on the Hogwarts Express," Hermione answered for him, realization flooding into her mind as Harry nodded. "That Rending Hex cast on the train compartment—whoever cast it had to be inside, and only students could have gotten on. They don't let parents on the train itself—they have to wait on the platform."

"The Rending Hex?" asked Neville? "Has this—trying to kill you thing—happened before?"

There was an awkward silence. "But that's terrible, Harry!"

"What is terrible?" Professor Dumbledore's voice was coming from the boys' staircase, and he came quickly into view around the curve of the stair, closely followed by an upset looking Professor McGonagall and Snape.

Neville swallowed at the sight of Snape—now that he no longer had to take Potions, he was considerably more confident, but the Potions Master still seemed to rattle him—but answered shakily. "That someone might have tried to kill Harry, sir."

"Ah, yes. And I'm terribly, terribly sorry to have to say that that does indeed seem to have been the case. There was an Exploding Hex cast on your satchel, Mr. Potter, and it appears to have destroyed your bed. Sadly, the destructive nature of the spell has rendered us unable to determine any trace of who might have cast the spell. Professor McGonagall has a few things to say to you, and Professor Snape and I shall take our leave."

"Yes, Sir," Harry said. "Will we be able to go back into the dormitory tonight?"

"That should be quite probable, Mr. Potter—we have cleaned up most of the mess, and the House Elves are moving in a new bed as we speak."

Hermione pursed her lips at the mention of the House Elves—she still couldn't bear to see their slave mentality and not want them to be free—but said nothing, and Dumbledore and Snape disappeared through the portrait hole.

The five seventh-year boys and Hermione were left before Professor McGonagall, who looked very upset indeed. "I cannot impress on you the seriousness of what might have happened as a result of this hex," she began. "Any one of you might have been killed, and if you have any idea who might have cast the spell—or if you discover anything in the future—I beg you to please tell either Professor Dumbledore or myself. I find it a most disturbing thought that a Hogwarts student might have attempted murder—and I deeply hope that such is not the case. But I must warn you—all of you, but particularly Mr. Potter—that it is of utmost importance that you be careful in everything you do.

"Professor Dumbledore has sworn to do everything within his power to keep every Hogwarts student alive and well. But you must—_you must—_endeavor to do the same. Do not take foolish risks. Do not keep secrets from Professor Dumbledore. Please."

Harry nodded, then swallowed hard. "Professor, there is something I ought to tell you." Hermione's eyes widened. Did he mean to tell her about the Rending Hex, too?

Indeed he did, and in the briefest of descriptions, Harry explained to Professor McGonagall what had passed on the Hogwarts Express. Hermione could actually see how hard it was for him—he had told her once, in an uncharacteristically revealing discussion, that the first rule of living with the Dursleys had been 'Don't ask questions' for as long as he could remember. Harry had never truly known an adult that he felt he could trust enough to ask for help—except perhaps for Sirius, but Sirius was dead—and to actively trust was a struggle.

McGonagall somehow seemed to realize this, and didn't charge into her protective mothering persona of righteous rage that threats against her students so often invoked. Instead, she just nodded calmly. "Thank you for telling me, Mr. Potter. I shall inform Professor Dumbledore as well." Harry nodded. "Oh, and Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up sharply.

"Twenty points to Gryffindor for your quick action this afternoon," she said with an uncharacteristically large smile. Hermione couldn't help but grin back as McGonagall retreated from the Common Room.

There was another long silence, which Neville suddenly broke. "Harry, you _have _to restart the DA. This is terrible—there're people trying to kill you, and even Dumbledore's not sure we're safe any longer. This goes beyond getting good marks on our OWLs or NEWTs. This is about protecting your life—all of our lives."

Harry nodded. "I'll talk with Tonks about it tomorrow."

"You're going to tell a teacher about it?" Dean asked, sounding surprised.

"She knows anyway," Harry explained. "She already asked me if I wanted help restarting it."

"It won't exactly be the same that way, though," replied Dean, slightly disapprovingly.

"Um…to be honest, Tonks knew about the original DA," Ron pointed out. "She's one of the—um—one of Dumbledore's friends."

"Well, let us know how it works, Harry," Dean said decisively, apparently not wanting to continue the conversation. The group dispersed after that, and Hermione dragged Harry and Ron with her to the library, saying that they might as well study. The boys set to work on their Potions homework, which Hermione had already finished. She'd brought along the _Artificium Magum_, and she opened that instead, flipping to a new page.

_Though Human Beings acquire their Magic from Magical Energy fields, many objects, plants, animals, and Creatures considered Magical have no ability to manipulate this Power. The powers that Magical objects have come largely from their symbolic Nature. A Magical object has some Meaning to it which is recognized by Witches and Wizards, and often even Muggles, and their interpretation of this Meaning gives it the Power to invoke this Meaning when used in a spell or potion. For example, a Creature such as a simple Non-Magical butterfly behaves as a symbol of the eternal cyclical nature of life and has been interpreted as such in both Wizarding and Muggle thought and literature. The Energy of the interpretation gives the butterfly Power as a very potent ingredient in potions and acts, depending on the ingredients with which is combined, either as a preservative, or as a catalyst for continuing a cycle of a desired behavior, or in some other manner that also reflects the Meaning of the butterfly. Often Magical Creatures such as Dragons have so many widely varying meanings that they can be used in myriad ways and have greatly differing Powers—however, because a Dragon's Meaning as a symbol is so potent, the Power of Dragon-related ingredients and the Power of Dragons themselves is always great._

_It is impossible to determine whether the interpretation of the Meaning is what gives an object or Creature its Power, or whether some already existing Power reveals the Meaning and the interpretation. Regardless, the Meaning and the Power are so closely interrelated as for the root cause to be irrelevant. What is significant is that the belief and the Power are connected—and so it is possible to experiment with previously unfamiliar ingredients by considering the Meaning of an object, plant, or animal._

It was late by the time Hermione returned to her dormitory, and she went straight to bed, mulling over the ideas in the Artificium Magum as she pulled on her pajamas. It was an amazing idea, and Hermione wondered how true it actually was. Medea Libris had been trying to base new spells on what she'd read in the book, and had accomplished at least a passable security system—though obviously the whole endeavor was much more complicated than Medea had realized. As Hermione drifted off to sleep, she wondered if she could manage to find the time to experiment a little bit with smething that was less complicated than spells…maybe Potions. She yawned, and sleep came quickly.

The next day was Potions again, and though Hermione had briefly considered asking Snape if she could use the Potions lab after classes, he was in such a foul mood when the class arrived that she decided against it.

Snape's look was black as he stood in front of the class. "I must say that I have never taught as big a bunch of idiots before. There was only one student out of this entire, NEWT-level class who successfully made an Imperishability Potion. The rest of you brewed passable Healing Potions, but nonetheless failed to accomplish the task I set before you."

There was a gasp from on of the Ravenclaw girls, Mandy Brocklehurst, Hermione thought, but it took the rest of the class a moment longer to realize what Snape had meant.

"He gave us the wrong _instructions_?" came an angry whisper from the back of the room.

"Indeed, Mr. MacMillan, I did give you instructions to a different potion than that which I asked you to brew. I intended to see if any of you had the intelligence to think about the task you were being assigned rather than simply follow instructions blindly. I was sorely disappointed, but I suppose it was nothing more than I should have expected out of this bunch."

"Well, who did brew the right potion?" Mandy Brocklehurst demanded.

"That is between that student and myself," Snape said, turning on Mandy. "And five points from Ravenclaw for your rudeness, Miss Brocklehurst." Hermione flinched at the look on Mandy's face, but remained silent.

The remainder of the class passed in relative calm, with Snape lecturing on the properties of the Imperishability Potion, but at the end of class he stopped Hermione as she was leaving.

"Miss Granger, a moment after class, if you will?"

Ron shot her a pitying look, but she waved him and Harry along, and they left, though both boys seemed to look rather upset about doing so. Finally the room was empty, save for her and Snape, and it felt oddly quiet.

"What is it, Professor?" she asked evenly.

Snape's jaw was clenched. "Much as it pains me, I need to ask a…favor of you."

"Yes?" Hermione asked, trying to keep calm.

"I do not enjoy conceding the victory of a Gryffindor Mu—Muggleborn, but you are…talented, and I need some research done on a field of Potions."

Hermione said the first thing that came to her mind. "May I have access to the lab then?"

He looked at her as though she were crazy. "That would indeed be a condition of being able to test potions, Miss Granger."

"Sorry," she blushed. "What precisely do you want me to do?" In truth, Hermione was incredibly flustered—Professor Snape, asking her to do research? And she was fairly certain he had only just resisted calling her a Mudblood a moment ago.

"I need to find a Translation Potion that maintains its integrity when exposed to Aether. I have—tried several typical potions, and all have failed. You may," he added dryly, "have noticed the results of this."

Hermione was still slightly suspicious. "But why are you asking me?"

"If you must know," he snapped, "it is because Professor Dumbledore told me that I could not offer extra credit to any student other than the one who actually brewed the correct potion for my little test yesterday."

"Extra credit?" Hermione echoed.

"Of course, Miss Granger. I would not require you to do extra work without receiving credit."

"Is that the real reason? Because Dumbledore told you to?"

"Miss Granger, are you fishing for compliments? I could tell you, for instance," he said, his voice growing louder and angrier by the word, "that there is simply not another student in this school whom I would trust to do research for me—would that SATISFY YOU?"

His voice suddenly grew quiet. "Draco Malfoy might have had the talent—arrogant little brat or not, he did have talent—but he is dead, and if he were not, I would not trust him not to use the work for political advantage. The benefits of asking a Gryffindor, I suppose," he said bitterly.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said softly, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't be. The boy was an idiot," Snape replied.

"Sir, can I ask you something else?" He nodded impatiently. "Would it be acceptable if I used the lab for independent research as well? I was going to ask you in class today—"

"My policy for independent lab use requires that you write me a proposal of what you intend to do. Turn it in to me and we shall see. Oh, and Miss Granger?"

"Yes?" Hermione replied.

"Who stole the boomslang skin from my stores in your second year? And the gillyweed in your fourth?"

Hermione blushed, which she realized was probably as incriminating as answering would have been—so she went ahead and replied.

"You do realize that according to the Hogwarts Record, the statute of limitations on discipline offenses ends after two years? You can't punish anyone—"

"For my peace of mind, Miss Granger," Snape replied, with something that was close enough to a smile to distinctly unnerve Hermione.

"I stole the boomslang skin. Dobby the House-Elf stole the gillyweed."

"You?" Snape asked, sounding faintly impressed. "I would have thought it was Potter. And—_Dobby the House-Elf?_"

Hermione shrugged. "You asked."

"Very well, then. On your way. I shall expect you tonight, at the same time as your detention. And fifty points from Gryffindor five years ago."

Hermione almost—_almost_—wanted to laugh as she stepped out of the dungeons, but was suddenly distracted by a sudden warmth in her pocket. Her brow furrowed for a moment before she remembered that she had begun carrying her DA galleon with her, figuring that it was better to be safe than sorry. She looked quickly down the hallway of the dungeon, verifying her solitude, then pulled it from her pocket and scanned the faintly glowing edge.

"_DA meeting for the new year—original members only. Friday 6:00 PM, RoR."_

She was still scanning the writing on the band when she heard Snape's voice behind her. "Miss Granger why are you—what in Merlin's name is that?" Before Hermione had time to react, he had snatched it from her hand, and she wondered absentmindedly if he'd ever played Quidditch—he certainly had the reflexes for it—before outrage set in.

Snape read the writing along the band. "Miss Granger, what is this?"

"It's a galleon, sir," she replied, heart pounding.

"A Galleon," he repeated. "It appears, Miss Granger, to be a Galleon with writing on it. Writing that references a—DA? Tell me, what exactly do the letters DA stand for?"

Hermione's mind went blank for a moment—should she lie?—just tell the truth? What would be the right course? She tried to stall for a moment. "Do I have to answer the question, sir?"

"You do not—_have _to—as you so simply put it, answer the question. However, if you do not I shall take 100 points from Gryffindor," Snape responded dryly.

Damn. "It stands for the Defense Association. Or Dumbledore's Army."

"Would this," Snape asked deliberately, "be the same 'Dumbledore's Army' that resulted in the loss of Professor Dumbledore's position in your fifth year?"

"Yes, sir. But study groups are hardly illegal under the current Minister of Magic. Minister Bones is significantly more—rational than Cornelius Fudge was," Hermione pointed out, slightly angry at Snape's implication—as if she, The Head Girl, would be participating in illegal Defense groups. Though, now that she considered it, she had as a Prefect—

Snape interrupted this thought. "And might I also ask how you communicate messages to one another through this Galleon?"

"It's a Protean Charm," she answered, a little bit petulantly.

Snape was silent for a moment, but his eyes flashed angrily. "And I suppose Professor Dumbledore charmed these for his precious Gryffindors?"

"He had nothing to do with it!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly. "I charmed the coins! He didn't even know about it until that day when Umbridge caught us."

"You? You cast a Protean Charm in your fifth year?" He paused for a moment. "That was a rhetorical question, Miss Granger, and I _do not_ want to hear the answer to it. In fact, I think I can see the situation. You thought you'd copy the Dark Lord's extraordinarily creative idea of casting a Protean Charm on all the members of your little—Gryffindor clique. Very—ambitious of you," he spat, dropping the Galleon back into her hand.

Hermione was silent for a moment, rage boiling within her. Had the man just compared her to _Voldemort?_ "First of all," she retorted, "you'll note that I cast the Protean Charm on bits of metal, rather than our member's _bodies_. And furthermore, we are not a _Gryffindor_ clique. There are members from every House but Slytherin, and there likely would have been Slytherins, too, if we'd thought there was even the slightest chance that they'd take Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons from Harry Potter."

Snape opened his mouth as if to retort, but nothing came out, and Hermione felt a swell of victory. Had she actually managed to silence the man?

Not exactly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for your rudeness, _Head Girl_. Get to your next class."

Hermione spun on her heel and tried not to storm out as she left the dungeons. His voice from behind halted her. "And I still expect to see you this evening for your project."

"Very well, Professor," she said to the wall. "Good afternoon." And this time she couldn't help storming. The sheer nerve of the man! He'd almost been nice, for a bare moment, and then he'd just—run mad again! Hermione had to admit that she was pleased that she'd finally managed to eke a few words of praise from Snape, but honestly, he was so unpleasant that he almost wasn't worth it. She sighed. She was beginning to dread this evening.

* * *

Notes to reviewers: 

**Magic and sparkle: **Thank you! I like Snape romances too, and, well, it's getting there!

**Dafina:** Glad you like my Ron! It's easy to make him into the bad guy a lot of the time, and I didn't want to do that - I like the trio best when it works together, and I love Ron when he's being his usual brave and loyal self. As for Remus, we shall have to see. I didn't have any particular plans to put him in, as he doesn't exactly relate to the main story, but he might put in an appearance.

**AngelApple70x7:** Yep! More Snape is on the way! Hope you approved of this chapter, at least, since there's lots of him in it!

**I-LUV-ILC: **Yeah, more death threats. The identity of "anonymous" will come out soon enough, but there might well be a few more murder attempts before we get there!

**Fiona McKinnon:** Glad you enjoyed, and thanks for reviewing! Keep reading!

**duchessofpower and polyhymnia:** Thanks for reading, you guys. Hugs

**Heather P.:** Glad you like it! I really, really think that fics are more fun when they keep Snape in character, so I hope to be able to keep it up. Thanks for reading!


	7. The DA Meets

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SS+HG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: Sorry for the downtime in my updating. Midterms, you know- but in a week it'll be spring break, and I will have plenty of time to write. Thanks to beautifulrain for the beta.

* * *

Hermione managed to catch up with Harry after Herbology later that afternoon, though it had taken considerable effort to find him. Somehow he was attempting to fit Quidditch practice in between the end of classes and the DA meeting, and Hermione had to corner him out by the pitch to get a word in.

"Harry, I got the message on the Galleon," she said by way of introduction.

He grinned. "Glad to know it worked," he said, "though since it came up on Ron's, I reckoned it would on everyone's."

"That's not my point, Harry," she said hurriedly. "Did you talk to Tonks about it before you decided to restart?"

"Yeah, for nearly an hour," Harry replied. Hermione looked at him expectantly. "We're going to keep it a secret," he said. "If Tonks sponsors it, it has to be open to everyone, and that'd defeat the purpose, wouldn't it? I thought we could have everyone talk about it tonight—we have to let more people in, you know; a good bit of the original group's left school by now. I was actually going to ask you—would you enchant another parchment? Not that I'm hoping to deal with another Marietta Edgecombe, but better to be safe than sorry."

"I'd be glad to," Hermione said, grinning. This was the old Harry, the one who came out only rarely now, but oh, how she loved it when he did. "But Harry," she added, "I think this time we should really warn people what they're signing."

"They'll probably figure it out, Hermione," Harry grinned. "Most of them saw Marietta last time."

She laughed. She couldn't help it, really. Hermione's emotions on that particular incident were somewhat mixed, but she couldn't help feeling as though Marietta had gotten exactly what she deserved.

"I've got to go now," Harry continued, "'cause we're planning tryouts for the new season."

"Have fun," Hermione replied. "I'll see you at six."

She jogged off the pitch and back to the Gryffindor dormitory, where she had several sheaves of thick parchment that held charms nicely. It was a fairly simple matter to replicate the spell she had used on the original DA roster—not that the spell wasn't complicated, but now that she'd already done it once, it didn't take more than thirty minutes to layer the hexes—one to bind the signature to the parchment, one to bind the signature to its owner, and one to reflect the SNEAK hex back on the owner of the signature if someone betrayed the group.

That part was the trickiest, because Hermione had to modify the criteria of betrayal since Umbridge was no longer the issue. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added telling Voldemort or a Death Eater about the DA as a possible criterion of betrayal, something she hadn't thought of before. That was a rather frightening thought, actually.

Lavender and Parvati came into the room just as Hermione was finishing. They offered quick greetings, then, noticing that Hermione had her wand out, looked closer.

"What are you working on?" Parvati finally asked.

"A new roster for the DA," Hermione responded. "Are you two coming to the meeting?"

"Yeah," Lavender replied, popping her gum. "It's terrifying though, isn't it? I mean, we aren't learning this to pass OWLs anymore, you know? It's to fight."

Hermione nodded, and looked appraisingly back at her. "Now that I think about it, maybe I ought to make the roster jinx a bit stronger."

"Oh, no one's going to betray us this time around, I don't think," Parvati said. "They all saw what happened to that Edgecombe cow."

Lavender snickered. "That was a brilliant jinx—make this one even better, ok?"

"Will do," Hermione affirmed, with a complicated wand motion that sealed the spell into the paper. "It's all done. I'm going to go to the library and read for a bit, all right? I'll see you two this evening."

"Sure," said Parvati. Hermione gathered her books together, sliding the _Artificium Magum_ into her satchel.

As she was leaving, Lavender called out, "Hermione!"

Hermione turned.

"Thanks for doing this. And congratulations on being Head Girl, since I didn't tell you before. You deserve it."

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, Lavender."

What was it, Hermione wondered as she left Gryffindor Tower, that had brought her two roommates closer to her in the past year. She'd spent at least the first half of her years at Hogwarts bickering with Lavender and Parvati—Hermione accusing them of being boy-crazy, of paying far too much heed to Trelawney's nonsense; the two other girls calling Hermione an anti-social bookworm. And yet they'd come to some sort of acceptance of one another. It had come with the war, Hermione realized, and the understanding that they were on the same side. Was it, then, the nature of war to bring people together? The nature of hardship, anyway, Hermione decided. She'd read that in books before, in the great epics of literature, and even in the ridiculous romance novels she'd borrowed from her aunt one summer when she'd run out of other books. In the poorly-written, flowery paperback, the hero and heroine fell in love after being trapped together in an impossible situation, forced to work together to find a way out. A common enough theme, it seemed.

Hermione shot a smile at Madame Pince as she entered the library. It was custom by now, and it had paid off—the stern-faced librarian was so fond of Hermione that she'd even let her into the Restricted Section without permission by her sixth year.

Dumping her satchel on one of the tables in a corner, Hermione pulled out a chair and opened the _Artificium Magum_. She was hoping to find something that might help with the potions Snape wanted her to brew. A Translation Potion that maintains its integrity when exposed to Aether, he had said. She flipped through the large pages until she came to a likely segment.

_The Symbols involved with Speech, Translation, and Writing are generally very complicated, as they tend to involve Words themselves rather than materials that may be brewed into a Potion or used in a Spell. Words are, by their very nature, Symbolic, representing the concept of their definition, and by that token, finding Symbols to represent other Symbols becomes a very trying task._

_One of the most potent Symbols of Language, for example, is the Hebrew Biblical Myth of the Tower of Babel. According to this Myth, the Men of Earth planned to build a tower to heaven, in pride and disrespect for God. Genesis 11 reads, 'And the Lord came down to see the city and the tower, which the sons of men had built. And the Lord said, "Behold, they are one people, and they have all one language; and this is only the beginning of what they will do; and nothing that they propose to do will now be impossible for them. Come, let us go down, and there confuse their language, that they may not understand one another's speech."' The Tower represents the Wealth of Language that covers the World, yet it is impossible to put a Mythical Tower into a potion. Using Symbols to represent the Words of this story, therefore, requires using a Symbol to represent a Symbol—always a dangerous endeavor. For example, one might use Mortar as a Spell ingredient to represent the Myth, but it would be uncertain that the Magical Energy would recognize both Symbols—the Symbol of the Symbol—and could result in the malfunctioning of the Spell._

Hermione sighed. It didn't look like this was going to be an easy task. She looked up at the large wall clock and saw that it was already half past five. She packed up her books and decided to head to the Room of Requirement early—after all, Harry would be there setting up.

By the time she'd managed to get in, Harry and Ron were already there, and Hermione handed Harry the enchanted parchment.

"Thank you," he said absently, taking it from her and putting it on the small table that had appeared by the door. "Could you help Ron pull those cushions into a circle?"

"Sure," Hermione replied, doing so. The room was quickly in order, and the three of them took seats facing the door.

"Are you ready for this, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah," he said, though he looked slightly edgy. "I'm just planning on discussing what we want to do with the group anyway, this time. You know, if we want to open it up to anyone, or just keep the people who are already in it. I sort of think we should let in a few people from the younger years—I mean, we were fighting Death Eaters when we were fifteen—but then, that's not exactly what Dumbledore is striving for in his 'keep the students safe' campaign."

"Good point, mate," Ron replied consideringly. "And you have to think about the fact that the people who have already had lessons from you are going to be miles ahead of the people who haven't. You don't want to spend half the bloody year catching up the new ones."

"We'll see," Harry replied, as the door opened and the first group of students poured in. Colin Creevey was first, though his brother Dennis was nowhere to be seen. Ginny was next, followed by Luna Lovegood, Lavender Brown, and the Patil twins. Seamus and Dean stepped in right after them, closely followed by Neville. The Hufflepuffs were next—Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, Ernie Macmillan, and Zacharias Smith. The Ravenclaw group was missing Michael Corner, but Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein came—and, as Hermione went over the list of names in her head, that was all of the remaining original members. It was something of a shock, actually, to see so few faces.

"Is this everyone?" Ron asked in a low voice, and Harry nodded.

"Hi, everyone. Thanks for coming," Harry began awkwardly. "I know you're all busy and all that, but I wanted to talk to you about restarting the DA. I know it doesn't have to really be a secret anymore, since Umbridge is gone, and we'll talk about that later, but, well, there's a war on now, and I think Dumbledore would want us to be able to protect ourselves."

"We have a decent Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher now, though," Padma Patil pointed out.

"Yeah, I know. It was Professor Tonks who talked to me about getting the group started again. She said it would be a good idea to have a group of students who were loyal to Dumbledore and to the light who had extra training, though," Harry replied.

Ernie Macmillan raised his hand.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, nodding at him.

"I have a very serious question about this, then. Are we being trained as some sort of militia, in case You-Know-Who attacks the school?" he asked rather pompously.

"Well," replied Harry consideringly, "I wouldn't quite put it like that. I won't deny that, personally, I would like to see a group of students able to help out if Voldemort were to attack—but I'm not sure how much help a bunch of students, even with extra training would be. Certainly not a militia—but a part of the defense if there needs to be one. If that makes sense."

Ernie nodded.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "we have a lot to talk about—particularly what we want to do with the group over the next year. Professor Tonks suggested that we not simply make it open to anyone—and I agree that there at least needs to be an age limit—but we need to think about other things, too. Can we let Slytherins in? And do any of you have friends who didn't join last time who might want to now? I want to hear what everyone has to say on this."

"But before we start," Hermione interrupted smoothly, "could you all please sign the roster? If you don't want to, you can leave now, but if you want to stay, we need to put in a safeguard against betraying the group."

"Is this parchment jinxed like the last one?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked seriously.

"Yes," Hermione replied simply. "And the jinx will manifest not just if you betray us to a teacher, but to Voldemort."

There was a gasp. "You seriously think that anyone in here might be helping _You-Know-Who_?" Zacharias Smith said angrily.

"Wizards from every House have turned to the dark, and some of them have been unlikelier candidates than any of us," Neville replied simply, surprising Hermione. The outraged murmur fell silent at that.

"Gryffindor Death Eaters?" asked Lavender, slightly imperiously. "I find that hard to believe."

"Believe it," Harry said shortly. "One of them is the reason my parents are dead."

There was a silence. "Anyway," Hermione continued, "I'm passing around the parchment before this discussion goes any further."

Somehow, almost miraculously, there were no complaints about signing. Everyone simply took the parchment, signed their names, and passed it on, though a sense of import weighed on everyone involved. Ernie Macmillan's comment about forming a militia had honestly affected them, Hermione thought. When it came her turn, she signed her name with a flourish. Harry signed last, then handed the parchment to Hermione.

"Would you keep this for us, Hermione?"

She nodded, and Parvati grinned. "You should make her secretary," Parvati declared, and Harry looked at her consideringly.

"That's not a bad idea," he admitted, "but just to actually take notes. I don't think we should have officers, as though this were Charms Club—I just want to teach you all what I know, so you can protect yourself."

"I'd be glad to take notes," Hermione agreed, "but I don't want to be in charge of everything—being Head Girl's more than enough." She didn't really mean that—to be honest, she'd as soon have as much authority as possible—but it seemed politic to put forward the appearance that she wasn't just after power.

"Now," Harry continued, "we need to decide what we're going to do about letting other people in."

"Why don't we just invite our friends that we trust?" Terry Boot said practically. "I mean, I know Mandy Brocklehurst from out House would want to join, and I'm sure there are a few younger years."

"Speaking of younger years," Ginny interrupted, "I think there should be an age limit. I know I was the first one to want to be let in as a fourth-year when Harry first started this, and I've spent my entire life having my brothers tell me I'm too young to do things." She smiled slightly in Ron's direction at that. "But like we've already said, this time we're not working to pass our OWLs, you know? Definitely no one younger than fourth-years, anyway."

"What if we only let in fifth-years or older, unless, well, unless they really deserve it?" Susan Bones asked. "I mean, if we had a fourth-year who knew as much as Harry did at that age, it would be all right to let them in…"

Colin Creevey raised his hand tentatively. "I told my brother not to come to this meeting because I thought he'd be too young," he said. "He's a fourth year, and I know you let him come to some of the meetings last time—but I don't think he'd ever actually be able to fight. And, to be honest, he just doesn't have the experience. He'd hold the rest of the group back."

"What about the Slytherins?" Anthony Goldstein asked.

"What about them?" Seamus replied snidely.

Goldstein glared at him. "I know you Gryffindors don't get along with them—but there are some really bright Slytherins."

"Who would listen to Harry and take lessons from him?" Seamus asked skeptically.

"It'd be worth a try," Goldstein argued. "Daphne Greengrass, anyway, if no one else. I went out with her for a few months last year, and she's really smart—and she didn't like Draco Malfoy's politics."

"I don't think she has Death Eater parents," Ginny pointed out, "but most of the others do. I think letting in people whose parents support Voldemort is probably a pretty stupid idea."

"I didn't say that," Goldstein grumbled.

"You can't always blame people for what their parents did, though," Hannah Abbott pointed out. "I mean, I don't think Theodore Nott supports You-Know-Who, but I heard his parents did."

"Nott's father is a Death Eater," Harry said absently.

"Nott hates Harry," Luna Lovegood said, speaking up for the first time.

"What?" Hermione asked, staring at the younger girl—it certainly wasn't the first absurd proclamation Luna had ever made, and Hermione had to admit that the Ravenclaw and her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks grated on her nerves. "How on earth would you know that?"

"He stares at Harry all the time," Luna said dreamily, "but not like boys do when they have a crush on someone. He glares, and his face goes all wary. It's like the Frumious Bandersnatch…"

Everyone stared for a moment. "Right then," Hermione said finally, putting Luna's ridiculous declaration from her mind. "Why don't we have Anthony invite Daphne—but tell her she has to sign the parchment before you'll tell her anything. If she doesn't want to, fine, but if she does, then we can ask her about any other Slytherins that want to join."

"It's like what the Sorting Hat said," Neville pointed out, a small smile on his face. "We really do all have to work together."

Harry actually smiled at that. "Yeah, it is," he agreed. "Now, when's the next time it's good for all of you to meet?"

Was the meeting over already? Hermione looked at the clock, which read—_eight o'clock_? She cursed inwardly and jumped to her feet.

"I'm late for a meeting, you guys; I really, really have to go. I'll talk to you all soon."

And with that, and to a litany of internal panic, she slung her bag over her shoulder and practically sprinted from the room.

* * *

Notes to reviewers:**  
**

**Fiona McKinnon: **Thanks! I do miss writing Draco sometimes, but there's a reason he's gone. Aside from plot purposes, he's a very hard character to write, you know? Complicated in one sense, and at the same time, very simple. It's interesting.

**Jessica Deal: **Thanks for reviewing. More is on the way.

**Dafina: **Thank you so much for reading, and for your lovely reviews. The romance is going to be getting underway within the next two or three chapters - depends on how the sections break up - but it's going to be very subtle at first, I think. They just have to get to a point where they realize they don't hate each other.

**Magic and sparkle: **Thanks! Haha, I love writing them both when they're angry- it's always fun to have characters with tempers. Thanks for reading still!

**Mlle Saltwater: **Thanks so much! I love that line too; it seemed very Snape-like to me. Keep reading; I hope you enjoy!


	8. Brewing Potions

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SS+HG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

A/N: Sorry again for the delay! Hope you enjoy this chapter.

* * *

By the time she got to the dungeons, it was ten minutes past eight. Hermione threw open the door to the Potions classroom, and practically ran through it, hoping against hope that Snape would be late again. 

It was not to be.

"Five points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Miss Granger," Snape drawled as she hurried inside. "And dare I ask where you were?"

"I was…detained." Hermione said evenly. "By a small study group of friends."

"I see," he replied. "I hope this will not become a regular occurrence?"

"Unlikely," Hermione answered, trying to mask any physical display of her annoyance. "What was it, precisely, that you wanted me to do?"

Snape sighed audibly. "I believe I told you what sort of potion I needed? I'm sure that, true to form, you have already read all of the textbooks I required for this class—you should already know the basics of experimental Potion-making. I need you to modify an already existing Potion to function in Aether."

"I do have some ideas, Sir, but—" she broke off.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I don't understand how one would test potions of this sort," Hermione admitted. She had been dwelling on this since reading up on translation symbols in the Artificium Magum—several ideas had immediately sprung to mind about how to modify the potion, but she had no idea how to guarantee its function, much less its safety.

Snape looked surprised for a moment. "An interesting question," he finally answered, "and a complicated one to answer. Because there are two independent functions to the Potion we want to create—it both translates languages, and renders one at least partially shielded from Aether—it must be tested in two separate stages." It was odd, Hermione reflected as she listened to him lecture. He was almost never this patient when he was teaching an entire class, nor this in-depth. "Miss Granger," he continued, "potions testing is not for the faint of heart or weak of stomach. This potion will necessarily be tested on a mouse or rat for safety and for effectiveness in deflecting Aether before either you or I ingest it. We will then use ourselves to test its translation powers."

Hermione nodded. "That makes sense, sir. And I assure you that I am perfectly capable of carrying out tests," she added a bit waspishly.

"I was questioning your willingness, not your ability," Snape replied mildly. "I have papers to grade, so I shall be in my office. I have altered the wards on my stores to open for you—you have free access to them. Please use your good judgment in employing them."

"Yes, sir. Thank you," Hermione said, and turned to the cauldrons stacked along the wall. As she set one up on her usual worktable, and started the fire underneath it, Snape came back out of his office for a moment.

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he said. "Do try not to cause any explosions." He shut the door, a bit too loudly behind him, leaving Hermione at first annoyed at the rude comment, then, when she thought about it for a moment, flabbergasted. That insult was considerably sub par for Snape. He must be losing his touch, she decided with a somewhat grim smile as she set to work.

The beginning was easy enough—Hermione set out brewing the usual base for a Temporary Translation Potion, a fairly simple blend of common ingredients that would ideally counteract and counterbalance the toxins in the dragon's blood and ink that would go into the potion later. Then, however, came the hard part. In order to be able to add the St. John's Wort, to help with the Aether protection, something had to counteract the herb's tendency to cause unnatural cheerfulness, which could be extremely dangerous.

Poppy oil, then, had to be added in the slightest of amounts. It shouldn't have any magical properties aside from being a depressant, and was used commonly enough to counter cheer-inducing ingredients. Still, it had to be added in perfect balance- even a drop too much could destroy the potion. Hermione prided herself on keeping her hands perfectly steady as she added it. The potion, she had decided, would be stirred with a rowan branch, which would ideally also invoke protection from Aether—and the fact that the cauldron was iron wouldn't hurt either.

Hermione completely lost track of time as she brewed, taking careful notes as she added each new ingredient, noting the color and appearance of the potion at each stage, and jotting down the intended effects of each ingredient. It was with no little pride that she looked down at the almost-finished brew. Theoretically, at any rate, it was perfect—it followed the instructions in the Theoretical Potions book exactly. Perhaps finally she could even earn some recognition from Snape, make him see that a Gryffindor and a Muggleborn could be worth something after all, make him see that she could be useful, that book smarts actually did come in handy.

She didn't even notice that Snape had left his office and was silently watching her as she added the three drops of dragon's blood, the last ingredient, and then stirred it methodically, seven times widdershins, with the rowan rod.

"An interesting idea, Miss Granger," Snape said as she withdrew the branch and sat it aside. Hermione stifled a shriek of surprise, but couldn't help jumping. Trying to soothe her pounding heart, she glared in his direction.

"Rowan has the property of protection against evil magic," she said.

"That hasn't been proven to be anything more than Muggle folklore," Snape challenged.

"The effects have been well-documented, if not proven," Hermione argued. "According to _Experiments in Modern Potions,_ Rowan has a singularly powerful effect against djinni—"

"Djinni?" Snape echoed his voice all of a sudden dangerous. "How did you know I'm conversing with djinni? I didn't tell you that." He loomed forward suddenly, and Hermione backed up against the wall, her heart pounding.

Could she bluff? It was worth a try—"Well, if I didn't know before, you just told me…"

"You didn't guess that on your own, Granger," he snarled, moving closer. "Have you been _spying_? You little—"

"Tonks told me," Hermione blurted. "It wasn't meant to be important; she just mentioned it in passing."

Snape stopped dead. "Tonks. I might have guessed." His lip curled. "I hope you had more sense than she did, and have told no one else of this."

"I haven't said anything, sir," Hermione replied.

"I can't believe," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, "that imbecilic Gryffindor—telling students Dumbledore's plans—no common sense. I'd rather have the bloody werewolf back than that scatterbrained little fool."

She was shocked by his rudeness—it was utterly unprofessional for a teacher to insult a coworker in front of a student—but what bothered Hermione more was that he seemed to be irrationally upset over nothing. "Sir," she began, "it wasn't anything really important that she told me."

"I'll be the judge of that," he snapped. "now bottle the bloody potion and get back to your dormitory. It's past midnight."

"Yes, sir," Hermione agreed, reckoning that it would be much wiser not to argue with Snape when he was in this sort of mood.

"Will tomorrow at the same time do?" he asked, a hint of a snarl still lingering in his voice.

"Yes, sir," Hermione repeated as she carefully labeled and dated the potion and handed it to Snape.

"Oh, and Miss Granger?" he added as she opened the door. "Do not think that your success or failure in this venture will mean anything to me whatsoever. You are a Gryffindor, a Mudblood, and a child without an ounce of practical intelligence that hasn't come out of a textbook. One does not feel pride in a tool, and that is all you are—to Professor Dumbledore and to me."

Hermione recoiled as though she had been slapped. A _tool?_ She couldn't think of a retort, so she simply fled the dungeons, almost running back to Gryffindor Tower and holding back tears. How had he known that recognition was exactly what she wanted? Was he just well-versed in crushing egos? She refused to cry as she climbed into bed, though. The opinion of someone as nasty as that meant nothing she told herself, and the few tears that soaked into her pillow were likewise meaningless. She fell asleep still fighting back tears, but by morning they had receded, and Hermione felt ready to face the world—and Snape—again.

When Hermione slid into her seat beside Harry in Herbology the next morning, he shot her a concerned look, but said nothing until Professor Sprout had set them to work planting mistletoe—a difficult task, as mistletoe was a parasitic plant that grew into the wood of living tree branches, and so had to be carefully introduced.

"You were out really late last night, Hermione. What does Snape want with you?" Harry finally asked, making a tiny slice in the wood of the oak saplings they were using to grow the mistletoe. A tiny bubble of sap slowly leaked out.

Hermione looked at him consideringly. Snape had not wanted her to say too much about his plans—still, it could hardly hurt to tell a bit. "I'm helping him brew potions for the Order. I'm not really supposed to say much more than that."

"Why you, though? I mean, I know you're a brilliant student, but wouldn't he prefer a Slytherin?" Harry asked.

"He said Professor Dumbledore made him choose me," Hermione admitted. It sounded rather ignominious, put like that, she reflected, as though he cared less for her intellect than for Dumbledore's orders.

Harry was silent for a moment. "I don't like that he's using it as an excuse to bully you," he said finally.

"Harry," Hermione protested, "he's not bullying me…not really, I mean, he's just his usual self…sometimes he's even not so nasty…" She trailed off. Even she had to admit that her arguments sounded rather weak. "I can handle it, Harry," she said finally.

"Handle what?" Ron piped in from the other side of the table, where he was working with Neville.

"Handle Snape," Hermione replied, not wanting to explain further. She just felt tired, all of a sudden, as though Harry's comment had drained her energy. Snape was perplexing; he confused her and she didn't want to think about him. Which, of course, made the fact that Potions class was next after lunch a most depressing prospect.

Hermione didn't particularly want to look Snape in the eye, not after she'd practically fled the dungeon in tears the night before, so she slunk into class behind Ron and Harry, hoping to avoid his glare.

It was a doomed endeavor from the beginning. His eyes trailed her from the moment she walked into the room, following her to her desk. He finally spoke. "Miss Granger," he said coldly, "would eight o'clock this evening be an amenable time to test your potion?" Somehow he managed to make even the politest of requests not a question at all, Hermione reflected.

"That's fine, sir," she replied.

"Very well." Snape turned to address the rest of the students. "You were expected to read before class the instructions for a Petrification Potion. You will brew this potion today, without instructions. Miss Granger, while I'm certain you are more than capable of brewing the potion by yourself, and could easily recited the entire textbook page back to me from memory, I would ask that you join Potter and Weasley for this exercise. It should take you more than a single class period to brew the potion by yourself, and I have no desire to see you in my classroom after hours any more than is already necessary." He said the last bit with an almost delighted sneer, and Hermione felt her face color—she tried to hide the blush; she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing that his unsubtle attempt to embarrass her in front of the rest of class had succeeded.

She moved her satchel and potions kit over to Ron and Harry's table without another word, though Ron muttered, "Just ignore the git," in a low voice. She shot him a grateful smile back, and Harry put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"You may begin," Snape added, as the class had not yet moved from the frozen silence his attack on Hermione had left them in.

A low chatter started, and soon the echoey room was loud enough that the three of them could speak without being easily overheard. "Do you know the recipe, Hermione?" Ron asked, then shook his head. "Why do I even bother asking? Of course you do."

Hermione grinned at that, feeling her spirits brighten a little, and replied, "Of course I know it. The question is, do you?"

"I read it, but I'm not sure I can repeat it from memory," Harry admitted.

"It's not as if we were expecting this, mate," Ron said bracingly. "Nobody expects you to know everything."

"It's not a problem, you two," Hermione said with a smug smile. Usually she hated helping the boys with work that they'd put off until the last minute, or hadn't done outright, but today she just wanted to prove to Snape that she could put together a good potion. "I know how to make it. Can one of you start dicing the slugs?"

She bustled around the cauldron, measuring out the potion's base quickly and efficiently, then began helping Ron and Harry prepare the active ingredients. They worked more or less in silence, but Hermione felt an odd prickle between her shoulder blades, a disconcerting sense that someone was watching her. It was probably just Snape, being boorish as usual, she decided, and refused to give him the satisfaction of turning around.

She tossed in a tiny pinch of silver shavings. "Ron, Harry, watch that very, very carefully, and the instant it turns purple, tell me so that I can put the daffodil sap in. It's really, really reactive right now, so don't let it splash on you."

If the potion had been brewed right—and Hermione was quite certain it was—it would take about three minutes to turn purple; plenty of time to get the sap to the right consistency. Hermione was mixing the smelly, sticky liquid with a small mortar and pestle as Ron and Harry glanced periodically into the cauldron. Suddenly from the other side of the room, there was a clunk of something being dropped to the floor—Harry and Ron turned to look. Hermione glanced over; it was just one of the Hufflepuffs who had dropped a glass vial. She looked back at the cauldron and was treated to the surprising sight of a small plant levitating itself through the air above the boiling liquid, and dropping itself in.

The world seemed to go still for a moment, and for a bare instant, the only thing Hermione could think was that this wasn't supposed to have happened. Then all of her thoughts came back in a rush—something had ruined the potion—wait; what was it?—a dried plant—it was a spring of thyme. A split second later Hermione remembered what happened when thyme and any reactive-stage potion came into contact. A second after that she was screaming.

"Harry, get out of the way!" He spun; looked at her, puzzled. Snape, his face a still picture of realization and fear, swooped towards them, faster than she had ever seen him move before. An instant later the cauldron exploded, spewing corrosive potion across the room. Hermione threw herself into Harry, knocking him out of the way as gouts of steaming purple shot towards them. Snape in turn leaped towards her, his heavy cloak as it spun out catching the brunt of the splash, the fabric melting away, but a bare second later Hermione felt her right leg begin to burn and realized that Snape hadn't managed to block all the potion. A scream tore its way out of her throat as twisting pain knifed through her leg, and her vision blurred almost red.

Through some vague part of her mind that was able to concentrate on something other than the pain Hermione heard Snape snarl something at Harry, who rolled quickly out from underneath Hermione, and then a low incantation. A waterspout shot from Snape's wand, soaking her but washing away the majority of the potion. Her leg still burned—the pain was choking up her throat so that she could barely breathe, but the worst of the agony had abated.

Snape knelt over her, his beetle-black eyes more piercing and intense than she had ever seen them. "Miss Granger," he said hurriedly, "I need you to tell me what was in the potion."

She could barely think around the fiery ache, but managed to get out the words, "Reactive-stage potion" around sobbing breaths.

"Yes, Miss Granger, but what went into the potion to make it explode?"

"Thyme," she managed, shaking and rocking forward slightly, trying to make the pain ease up.

He let out a curse that Hermione had never even imagined hearing out of the mouth of a Hogwarts official and tore back her robes to where the potion had splashed. Hermione couldn't help but gasp; from her ankle to halfway up her thigh her stockings had completely burnt away and the skin was crimson and puckered and blistered as if it was boiling—as she watched in horror, she actually saw a bubble rise to the surface. The pain suddenly intensified threefold, and she strangled another scream.

Snape cursed again, then muttered another incantation Hermione couldn't hear. A beaker of a watery-looking blue liquid shot into his hand; he uncorked it and poured it liberally on the boiling skin, which cooled almost instantly as her leg steamed slightly. Hermione let out a gasp of relief, which quickly turned into one of surprise as Snape scooped her up into his arms as if she were weightless and began striding towards the door.

"Class dismissed; get out of this room NOW," he snarled behind him as he carried Hermione from the room.

"What—" she managed faintly.

"I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing. You can't walk." Snape replied briefly.

"Oh…." The world was beginning to look rather fuzzy around the edges again.

"Miss Granger, please do not pass out," he said a bit testily.

"Why?"

He looked directly into her eyes. She had never been this close to him—to any teacher—before, never been able to feel how fast someone's heart was beating or hear the rasp of breath in someone's throat or smell the faint aromas that hung on someone's clothing. Snape smelled of mint and mildew. "Because if you pass out, you will be much heavier, and I will probably drop you," he replied, jolting Hermione from her reverie.

"Right," she murmured, and drifted into silence, fighting the blurred edges of her vision and feeling as though she'd won a victory when the fuzziness receded a little bit. It seemed like no matter how fuzzy the rest of the world was, his eyes were always sharp, and she felt him kick open the door to the Hospital Wing and heard Madam Pomfrey's voice from thousands and thousands of miles away and his low rumble in response and felt the cool sheets under her and vaguely recognized him collapsing into a chair nearby…his eyes were still glittering….

She couldn't remember anything after that.

* * *

Notes to Reviewers: 

**Futbolchick:** Thanks so much! Tackling a teacher-student relationship is always a challenge; I appreciate the encouragement!

**Fiona McKinnon: ** Well, here's some more; hope you approve! You'll find out more about what happened to Draco soon; he may even appear in flashback form for a bit.

**Dafina: **Thank you, thank you, thank you! Your sweet reviews always make my day. I agree, the fic is about PG-13 right now, but I intend for it to get up to R eventually. And thanks again:-D

**Duchessofpower: **I'll see if I can't write you a copy! -g-

**Brittany Malfoy: **Thanks! Keep reading!

**Magic and sparkle: **Thanks very much! Hope you like this next bit!

**Jessica Deal: **Thanks you very much! I love writing the Artificium Magum- it went through a lot of phases, some of which were even more incomprehensible than it is now- it's so much fin to play with! Keep reading, and I'm glad you liked my McGonagall!


	9. Chats and Chocolate Frogs

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Summary: The Slytherins are trying to murder Harry, Hermione has a Magical Theory book that holds all the answers – if she knows where to look, and Snape seems to be putting himself in more and more danger – for what? There's a plot to make Harry immortal, the trials of being Head Girl, and Hermione hates Snape…doesn't she? A novel-length 7th year SS+HG fic.

Rating: Will eventually be R

Pairing: Snape/Hermione

Warnings: Pre-fic character death. Sorry, Draco fans. I don't want to scare anyone away with that, but though this is not yet AU, I'm pretty sure it will be as soon as HBP comes out. There will eventually be teacher/student relationships, obviously non-canon ones, and some violence.

Reviews: Please! Feedback is good!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. That honor belongs to JKR and Warner Bros.

* * *

Hermione awoke in the Infirmary, silvery light streaming through the windows and onto the starched sheets. On the nightstand next to her was a box of Chocolate Frogs, with a piece of parchment lying on top. She picked it up and unfolded it, still slightly sleepy.

_Dear Hermione,_

Harry's handwriting. She glanced down at the signature, which read

_From,_

_Harry (and Ron)_

She grinned and started back at the top.

_We just wanted to drop you a note (and a present—Ron's idea) to let you know we hope you're feeling better, since it's getting really late and Madam Pomfrey says you won't wake up until morning anyway and she won't let us spend the night here with you. Anyway, we just wanted to say that we're really, really sorry that we weren't watching potion closely and that you got hurt because of it, and we hope very much that you aren't going to hate us for it or anything. Madam Pomfrey says you're going to be fine and that Snape treated the worst of it fast enough that there won't even be any scars, but it looked like it hurt a whole lot and so we're sorry for that._

_Anyway, we'll be by to see you tomorrow. Hope you're feeling better. Oh, and Snape said that we should tell you that he's testing the potion tonight, whatever that means, and he'll let you know how it works tomorrow. He said you'd know what he was talking about. This extra-credit thing you're working on? Actually, he sounded almost nice—kept the snarkiness to a minimum. I think it was just because he wanted something from us, though. Anyway, see you tomorrow, and Ron and me are really, really sorry about what happened._

_From,_

_Harry (and Ron)_

The sort of fond happiness that Harry and Ron could inspire, Hermione reflected, felt rather like sitting next to a warm bonfire, a sort of happy, glowing, friendship-y feeling. Really, they were just so sweet sometimes—and she had to admit that the Chocolate Frogs were a nice touch. Hermione was reaching over to eat one when it occurred to her that it might be a good idea to check with Madam Pomfrey to make certain it wouldn't interact with any of the potions she might have given her.

Luckily, Madam Pomfrey walked in the door, almost the next instant.

"Oh, you're awake, dear. Good, right on schedule. You can eat that chocolate if you want it; I wouldn't have left it there if it could have done you any harm. And how are you feeling?"

Hermione, thankfully, was used to Madam Pomfrey's brisk attentiveness. "I feel fine. My leg still stings just a little bit—it feels sort of like a mild sunburn."

"Quite normal," the mediwitch pronounced. "That should go away by this evening. You've been excused from classes—" She gestured for Hermione to be quiet at her first sound of protest. "I know you have NEWTs, but you can afford to miss one day of class. I want you to stay here so that I can observe you and make certain there are no further ill reactions. I can ask Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley to bring your homework, if you would like, and you may do it here. Is that acceptable?"

"That's fine," Hermione replied quickly, unwrapping a Chocolate Frog. "But I still have some questions. I don't exactly remember what happened—Professor Snape carried me here? Was he all right? He didn't get burned by the potion, did he? And when did Harry and Ron come by and leave this?"

"Well, Professor Snape did indeed carry you here; you were barely conscious—I'm surprised you remember that much. You were hurt very badly, Miss Granger. He was not injured at all. Potter and Weasley followed you here; they waited with you until they had to leave for their next class, and then they came back in the evening after dinner with the chocolate for you. They said they would be stopping by after their morning classes, which should be any minute now I would imagine."

There was a knock at the main door of the Infirmary. "That would be them, I would imagine, barring any further Potions accidents," Madam Pomfrey said, bustling towards the door.

Harry and Ron followed her in a minute later, and both of them rushed to her bedside, talking at once.

"Hermione, are you all right? You aren't mad at us—"

"Hermione, we're really, really sorry, and we know we should have been watching the potion—"

Hermione decided interrupting them would probably be the easiest course. "It wasn't your fault! And I'm all right; Madam Pomfrey says I can leave this evening. And I'm really not mad at you—it wasn't anything you did at all; it wasn't your fault the thyme got in there—"

Hermione stopped dead. The thyme. She hadn't thought about it at all as the Potion had been seconds away from exploding. She hadn't thought beyond the fact that the thyme was there, hadn't realized that Potions ingredients, explosive or not, are highly unlikely, even in a magical school, to levitate themselves across the room and into a highly reactive potion…"

"Oh, no," she whispered softly.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"The thyme," Hermione replied. "Someone was trying to kill Harry."

"What?" Harry asked. "What are you talking about?"

"The thyme—that was what made the potion explode—it levitated itself into the cauldron. I didn't even register it at the time, because I was rather busy with getting you out of the way."

"Hermione," Ron said a bit nervously, "herbs don't just levitate themselves around the school."

"I think that was her point, Ron," Harry replied wryly.

"I think it's our elusive murderer. It must be someone in the class…" Hermione trailed off.

"One of the Slytherins?" Ron suggested.

"Well, the only ones who could plan something like that are Nott and Greengrass, really," Harry pointed out. "Everyone else listens to them."

"But Nott isn't in with Voldemort," Hermione pointed out, "and I honestly think that this is what Daphne was trying to warn me about at the beginning of the year. I can't imagine that she'd warn me about something she was planning on doing."

"Pansy Parkinson or Millicent Bulstrode?" Ron suggested.

"Could be," Harry replied, "but I just don't see them acting on their own."

"Orders from Voldemort, maybe?" Hermione suggested, still unconvinced.

"Maybe, but I don't think so," Harry agreed.

"A Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw?" Hermione wondered.

"What about Snape himself?" Ron said darkly. Hermione glared at him. "Oh, all right. I realize that he saved your life and all that. But I maintain that it doesn't make him any less of a greasy git."

"At any rate, you should tell Professor McGonagall," Hermione advised. "You did promise you'd let her know if anything else strange was going on."

Harry nodded. "I'll tell her after Transfigurations today."

There was a knock on the door. Harry stood up.

"I'll get that, dear," Madam Pomfrey said, hurrying towards the door.

Harry looked up at the ornate clock on the wall. "It's nearly time for us to be in Transfigurations, actually."

"Can you bring me the homework assignments?" Hermione asked.

"Sure," Harry said. 'And from Charms, too?"

"Yes, please," Hermione replied. "Thank you." She grinned. "And have a Chocolate Frog on your way out."

"Don't mind if I do," Ron said, snatching two of them. Harry took one as well.

"Feel better, Hermione," he said, giving her a quick hug, something he did only very, very rarely. Neither of the boys was particularly demonstrative. "We were worried."

"Thanks again, you two. I really appreciate everything."

Madam Pomfrey was bustling towards the bed now. "Miss Granger? Professor Snape is here to speak to you?"

"Right," Hermione said, with something that was not quite a groan. Harry and Ron shot her sympathetic looks.

"See you later, Hermione," Ron said, and the two of them left.

They slid by Snape, who looked strangely hesitant to enter, in the doorway. In the same moment, Hermione realized that she was dressed in only a thin nightgown, and flushed. Strange, really, that it hadn't mattered with Harry and Ron, though, she reflected, they had seen her in pajamas before, and they were most certainly not as imposing, or as non-related to pajamas in Hermione's mind, as Snape.

He looked rather uncomfortable as well, now that she noticed it, refusing to meet her eyes, and, indeed, looking everywhere except at her.

"Miss Granger," he said brusquely, looking carefully at a spot above her head, "I came to report on the test of your potion."

"Did it work?" Hermione asked, feeling her heart start racing, just as it did when a teacher was handing back exams or homework grades, with a rush of adrenaline and anticipation.

"No," he said bluntly, and Hermione felt her heart sink. "I tested it on a rat first, which sustained mild aether burns. It provided some protection—the burns were mild but still not at a safe level to test the potion on a human."

"It should have worked," Hermione muttered a bit petulantly.

"It should have," Snape agreed, and Hermione looked up sharply. "I looked over your notes several times before I realized what the problem was."

"And…" Hermione asked.

"Did you consider the way that stirring the potion widdershins would be affected by using a rowan stirring rod?"

Hermione thought for a moment, then her mouth dropped open. "The rowan's ability to counter magic would have negated some of the effect of the direction of the stirring, wouldn't it?"

Snape nodded. "Precisely. The potion still maintained much of its protective ability, because of the St. John's Wort you added earlier, but the full potency was affected by that reaction. Even so, much as I hate to admit it, Miss Granger, it was well done."

Hermione barely even registered the compliment. Her mind was racing. "How can I introduce both the effects of the rowan and the stirring without them counteracting each other?" she asked aloud.

Snape, almost imperceptibly, rolled his eyes. "I thought about it, and the best solution I could come up with was to use the rowan rod until the very end, then add the dragon's blood and stir it with—"

"Iron," Hermione interrupted.

Snape nodded in agreement, with a strange sort of masked expression. "That will provide nearly the same level of magical protection as the rowan, but it should not react with the stirring of the potion." He paused. "Will you be out of the Infirmary in time to brew a new potion tomorrow evening?"

"Yes, sir. That should be fine. Same time?"

Snape nodded distractedly. He still hadn't met Hermione's eyes.

She took a deep breath. "Sir, I wanted to thank you for saving me yesterday." There was a silence. "I just wanted you to know I appreciated it."

"Miss Granger, it is my duty as a Professor at the school to protect you."

"I know," Hermione replied, "but I'm grateful for it all the same."

"You're—you're welcome, Miss Granger." He turned faintly pink. "And do try to take more care in the future. Why you would put thyme in a reactive stage—" He broke off. "WHAT?" he roared. Apparently the actual events of the previous day hadn't yet registered with him, either. "You put THYME in—"

I didn't!" Hermione exclaimed, cutting him off. "Honestly! You know full well that I know better than that. It levitated itself in!"

"It—what?" Snape asked, looking befuddled.

"I think the same person who was trying to kill Harry before enchanted it to drop into the cauldron when we looked away," Hermione explained hastily.

"Miss Granger, that's a very serious charge," Snape pointed out.

"Well, I certainly didn't try to kill myself!" Hermione snapped indignantly. Snape smiled faintly. "Harry's going to tell Professor McGonagall after class today."

"Very well," Snape said, and finally looked down at Hermione. He blushed almost imperceptibly, but didn't look away. Suddenly Hermione was very aware of how thin the fabric of the nightgown was, and just how much of the swell of her breasts was visible. She felt her heart start to flutter uncomfortably again. "Miss Granger," he said quickly, "please be careful. Jumping in front of Potter was the typically foolhardy sort of response I'd expect from a Gryffindor, but I want to see you think, Miss Granger, not just act. Sometimes," he said, and it didn't exactly sound as if he were talking to Hermione anymore, "I wonder who would be in my House if the Sorting Hat put Muggleborns in."

"I wouldn't have been," Hermione said almost without thinking. "I practically made the Hat put me in Gryffindor—it wanted Ravenclaw but I read before I came that most of the really, really famous wizards were in Gryffindor. I wouldn't have let it put me anywhere else."

"This said," Snape replied, looking oddly as though he wanted to both laugh and weep, "with the pure unadulterated ambition of a Slytherin. Get some rest, Miss Granger, and finish some of you schoolwork, and I shall see you tomorrow evening at eight."

He spun around and left the hospital wing, robes billowing behind him. Madam Pomfrey bustled over. "Now, dear, you ought to rest a bit more. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley should be by later with your classwork."

Hermione shrugged. She didn't particularly want to sleep, but she shut her eyes and lost herself in thought. Snape had been decidedly non-confrontational, had even plied her with several comments bordering on the complimentary. She wondered if he had meant to compliment her by comparing her to a Slytherin, as well. It seemed the sort of thing he would do. At any rate, they now had a solid plan to make the potion work correctly, and she couldn't wait to get started on it.

Hermione found herself, as she let her mind wander, beginning to feel quite sleepy—perfectly normal, really, for having just undergone some fairly serious magical healing. She didn't bother fighting sleep; instead, she just let herself drift off, wondering, as she did so, what in the world had possessed her to reveal even the slightest of personal confidence to Snape—'I practically made the Hat put me in Gryffindor' indeed. As if he would even care. She fell asleep halfway through the thought.

* * *

Notes to Reviewers:

**Jessie Deal**: Thanks very much! Well, I wouldn't say I exactly have a background in biology or chemistry, I have taken a few higher-level courses. I'm actually an English major, though. And actually what you'll find is that most of the plants/animals/reactions I describe have some sort of basis in literary symbolism, or at least have some sort of meaning.

**Magic and sparkle**: Thanks! Hermione will be ok- after all she's gotten through being Petrified, being partially turned into a cat, you name it!

**Dafina**: Thank you so, so much! I'm tryng to make Hermione the way I see her- sort of a bookworm like me, but braver and with a bit more of a temper. And Snape, is, well, Snape. And as for your comment about the cursing, I left exactly what he said blank because it's so much more fun to imagine! It's interesting that you said that, though, because what I imagined wasn't the f word.

**Annon**: Thanks for reading!

**Caeria**: Thanks! If you keep reading, you'll find out!

**Duchessofpower**: Thanks muchly! J

**Brittany Malfoy**: Thanks! Yeah, Snape's pretty nasty, but I think after what happened he's going to understand Hermione a little bit better.

**Lone Magnolia**: Thanks for reading! I try to get about a chapter done per week- but I hope you'll let me know if your theories come true!

**Coliemcnoly**: Thanks for reading, and glad to know you like it!


	10. Gryffindors and Slytherins

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Chapter 10: Gryffindors and Slytherins

See warnings and disclaimer in previous chapters. Please read and review!

* * *

Hermione was putting the finishing touches on a short essay for Transfigurations when Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room. 

"Miss Granger? If you let me take a look at that leg of yours, I'll let you go now, and you ought to be able to make it to dinner with a bit of time to spare."

"Thank you," Hermione said gratefully, pushing back the bedsheet and revealing her leg, skin smooth and unscarred, though still faintly pink. Madam Pomfrey poked at her knee. "Does that hurt at all?"

"No," Hermione responded. "My skin feels a bit…tight, I suppose, but it doesn't hurt at all anymore."

"Excellent," the mediwitch said brightly. "Then it's back to your dormitory with you, young lady, and I'll thank you to be more careful in the future. Merlin knows Professor Snape ought to thank you for it. The last thing that man needs is accidents in his NEWT-levels, what with the first years exploding cauldrons left and right. Now, off you go, and take those Chocolate Frogs with you. Last month a Hufflepuff left a box here and they got loose and melted all over the clean linens. The House Elves were quite put out."

With a grin, Hermione climbed out of bed. Madam Pomfrey handed her a spare robe. "Put this on over your nightgown, dear, and then go back to your dormitory and change."

"Thank you so much, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione said politely.

"Nonsense, dear," she replied with a wave of her hand. "It's my job to patch up you miscreant children, and say what you will about it, it's always eventful. Off with you, now!"

Hermione hurried out of the room, clutching the chocolate in one hand and her wand in the other, and back up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. She pushed open the door to her room, where Lavender and Parvati were sitting on Parvati's bed, attempting some sort of intricate Braiding Charms on one another's hair.

"Hermione!" Lavender said, leaping up so quickly that the little spell mote that was flashing in her hair made an odd jump and ended up tying a neat bow halfway down the braid. "Are you all right? Harry said you'd gotten burned in Potions; how are you feeling?"

"I'm fine—I'm a lot better now, really," Hermione replied. "It was rather nasty at first, though. I think my skin started boiling," she added thoughtfully. "At any rate, it really, really hurt. Professor Snape had to carry me to the Infirmary."

He _carried_ you?" Parvati squealed. _"Snape?"_

Hermione nodded.

"He must be a lot stronger than he looks," Lavender said, tilting her head. "I mean, not that you're fat or anything, Hermione, because you're not, but you'd have to be really strong to carry someone all that way."

"It sounds so romantic," Parvati said with a sigh. "Until you remember that it's Snape," she added dryly.

"Believe me, it wasn't romantic," Hermione said, plopping down gracelessly on her own bed across from them. "It was just really painful."

"Well, I'm glad you're better, anyway," Lavender concluded decisively, then pulled the now very confused braid from behind her shoulder to look at it. "Oh, what a mess."

There was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" called Parvati, who was shifting to sit behind Lavender and unknot her hair.

"It's Ginny," said the red-haired girl, opening the door and sticking her head in. "I just wanted to check on Hermione."

"Hi," Hermione said. "Did Ron or Harry send you?"

"No, I just heard you were back from the Infirmary and wanted to see how you were doing," Ginny explained, then looked over at Parvati's tangled efforts. "If you loop your wand when you say the spell, instead of just moving it in a straight line, it'll work better," she advised.

Parvati tried it, and Lavender's hair neatly unknotted, falling gracefully down her back as though it had just been brushed. "Thanks, Ginny!" she exclaimed.

"You're welcome," Ginny replied. She turned to Hermione. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Much, much better than I was," Hermione said. "It doesn't hurt any more, so Madam Pomfrey said I could leave."

"That's good," said Ginny. "What I really came to tell you, though, was that there's a DA meeting tonight. I figured you probably didn't have your Galleon with you in the Hospital Wing. It's at nine, in the Room of Requirement—you can come, can't you?"

"Of course!" Hermione said, leaning over to open the small drawer in her nightstand. The Galleon was wrapped in a handkerchief, but sure enough, it was radiating heat. "Do you know what Harry is planning? I was supposed to be helping him with lesson plans, and I didn't even know he was doing this—"

"I got most of it ready for him," Ginny admitted, "but it's just a review of basic spells—the disarming charm, and Shield Charms, and _Accio_, and that sort of thing. Really we just want to get everyone together to talk, especially about whoever's trying to kill Harry. McGonagall was really worried when he told her about the thyme in the potion."

"What'd she say?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing really," Ginny admitted. "At least, not to Harry. But I overheard her talking to Dumbledore afterwards, and she sounded really upset—especially that you'd taken the brunt of the attack. She was really worried about you and Ron—and all the Gryffindors, really—getting caught in the crossfire if Voldemort attacks Harry again."

If Voldemort attacks Harry?" Hermione asked. "I don't think it's Voldemort doing this, Ginny."

"Well, a Death Eater, then, or someone who wants to be one," Ginny said impatiently. "But that's not the point. Anyway, Daphne Greengrass is supposed to show up tonight—first Slytherin in the DA, you know. Seems like a rather big deal."

"There's nothing inherently wrong with Slytherins, you know," Hermione pointed out. She frowned. "At least, I don't think so. Snape said I was a lot like a Slytherin, and that if I wasn't Muggleborn I might well be one. But I don't think so. I don't understand the way they work."

"It's all politics and social maneuvering and I don't know what else," Lavender put in. "I had to do a Charms project with Pansy Parkinson, and she was all about 'plans for the future' and 'social climbing' and 'old money.' You know, she was engaged to Malfoy? Or betrothed, or whatever. No ring, or romance or anything, but their families had an arrangement."

"It sounds like something out of a Muggle Victorian novel!" Ginny exclaimed. "Marrying for money, and old families and bloodlines—it's ridiculous!"

"I don't think all the Slytherins are like that," Parvati said. "I mean, some of the families aren't into the bloodlines and whatnot—they just love the politics of it. Daphne's like that. And Snape, too, actually, from what I've overheard my parents saying. And Theodore Nott's family, and a lot of the ones whose parents are Death Eaters, actually. Most of the really uptight purebloods didn't actually follow You-Know-Who, even though they supported his ideas. They didn't want to follow some upstart who didn't come from a good family or anything."

"What about the ones that did, like Malfoy?" Ginny asked, sounding curious.

"Just after You-Know-Who's power, I think," Parvati explained.

"How do you know all this?" Hermione asked.

"My parents are purebloods," Parvati said. "Padma and I grew up hearing about all this—our parents aren't political, though, and they aren't pureblood supremacists. But they're a lot more involved in that sort of society than Lav's family, or Ginny's."

"Maybe if the Hat puts you in Slytherin, you just sort of learn how to be a Slytherin," Lavender suggested. "I'd imagine that they just swallow anyone who can't keep up."

"I heard McGonagall say everybody is out to get everyone else in Slytherin," Ginny said.

"Then I wonder what's in it for Daphne?" Hermione asked aloud.

Parvati shrugged. "We'll find out this evening."

Dinner that night was a quiet affair at the Gryffindor table, and Snape kept shooting glares down at them. Well, Hermione reflected, not at them, exactly—he appeared to be glaring indiscriminately at everyone in the room.

"What's wrong with Snape?" she wondered aloud.

A first-year girl a few seats down the table apparently heard Hermione, and raised her hand rather tentatively, as though she were waiting for the Head Girl to call on her.

"Catherine, you don't have to raise your hand at dinner," Hermione said delicately, hoping that she wouldn't embarrass the girl."

Catherine blushed anyway, but said, "In first year Potions today one of the Slytherins blew up his cauldron. It made a really big mess. And he blamed it on the Gryffindors!" she added, high-pitched voice rising with indignation.

"You might want to get used to that," Ron muttered darkly, and the girl squeaked and nodded.

"Don't scare the first years, Ron," Harry said good-naturedly, and Ron was opening his mouth to reply when, at the Head Table, Snape shot up out of his seat, a strange expression on his face. He turned and said something to Dumbledore, who opened his mouth as though to issue a command, but appeared to think better of it and nodded slowly, a set expression—matching Snape's—on his face. Snape spun and glided from the room.

There was a moment's silence at the Gryffindor table, but most of the other Houses appeared not to have noticed. The Slytherins, obviously, had seen as well—they noticed everything, and even more so when it related to their House.

"I wonder what that's about?" Lavender said finally. Harry shrugged but looked grim.

Hermione felt her heart speed up slightly—was it jumping to conclusions to assume that Snape was going to Voldemort? It was quite likely—what else could call him away so fast, without any visible communication? But still, perhaps she was thinking too much. It might well be nothing….

She just hoped he'd be safe, then wondered where the thought had come from. It was certainly unlike her to care more than usual about Snape. But no, she told herself, she'd wish the same for anyone. It had nothing to do with Snape saving her life or carrying her to the Infirmary or any such feelings of obligation, and really, she should go back to her dinner.

They finished eating without another word, and then Hermione left to go finish the last of her homework and help Harry set up the Room of Requirement. By the time she arrived, Ginny and Ron were already there, tossing floor cushions into the semblance of a circle, and the first DA members began turning up only a few minutes later, plopping down onto the pillows and chatting while Harry fished the parchment with the roster out of his satchel.

When Anthony Goldstein led Daphne Greengrass into the room, they all went silent for a moment, and Hermione took the chance to size up the other girl. Daphne was rather pretty, pale and dark-haired and with very big eyes. Hermione had never had much of a chance to talk with her, but she knew Daphne was smart and a good student, and, well, she was a Prefect, wasn't she? The Slytherin girl rarely spoke in her classes, but when she did, it was to ask questions that poked perfect neat holes in a teacher's argument, or to answer a question with the clearest, most concise explanations Hermione had ever heard.

"Greengrass, I'm assuming Goldstein has already explained to you what you're signing?" Harry asked, holding out the hexed parchment to the Slytherin.

"Yes, but why don't you tell me again," Greengrass replied appraisingly.

Hermione stepped over to stand behind Harry's shoulder, a bit standoffishly. "There's a hex in the parchment. If you betray the group to anyone who wants to see it gone, or to Voldemort, or tell anyone anything about it whom you know might not have good intentions, the hex will activate. I'm assuming you saw what happened to Marietta Edgecombe two years ago? This hex is worse." The last was a bit of a bluff—she had made the hex stronger, and added a few other effects, but most of them were intended to let Harry know if the hex activated, and who had done it, rather than making the punishment inflicted on the traitor any harsher. But it wouldn't hurt to be a bit intimidating.

"And what exactly does signing this parchment entail?" she asked.

"That you're participating in the DA. That you stand in support of Dumbledore and against Voldemort. That you're willing to do extra study to learn Defense, to protect yourself and Hogwarts. And obviously, that you won't tell anyone else about the group unless we all know about it." Harry answered smoothly. Hermione was impressed—he really sounded like a leader, and she wondered if being Head Boy was starting to have an effect on him.

"And what if I decide I want to leave?" Greengrass asked. "What if I don't like how you're teaching, or get in a fight with one of you, or, for that matter, change my mind and decide I want to support the Dark Lord? What then?"

"Then we strike your name from the roster," Harry said, "and you'll no longer be a member, but the hex will still apply if you betray anything you know about the group. We're covering our backs, here. It's too much of risk, otherwise. And," he added as an afterthought, "if you actually decide to support Voldemort, we'll probably try to kill you. Just so you know."

"Right," Greengrass said decisively. "I'm in."

Harry grinned. 'Sign here." She took the parchment and added her name with a flourish.

"Now," Harry said, "we're going to get to work." He demonstrated a few basic charms, the ones Ginny had mentioned earlier, and set them to work practicing. Disarming Charms began flying around the room, knocking pillows around and occasionally sending someone flying backwards into one. Hermione paired herself with Daphne Greengrass, ignoring Goldstein's annoyed look when she unsubtly barreled in front of him.

"Greengrass? Want to partner up?" she asked hurriedly.

"Sure, Granger," the other girl said, positioning herself across from Hermione. "Now what is it you want?" she asked, shooting off a spell, which Hermione easily dodged.

"I want to know what you know," Hermione replied, muttering a low "_Expelliarmus_."

Greengrass stepped aside. "About what, Granger? Slytherin politics? Who's in what faction? Who's working for Voldemort?" She smirked faintly. "Who's trying to kill Potter?"

"You know about that?" Hermione blurted, just as Greengrass hit her with the Disarming Charm. Hermione's wand went flying, and landed neatly in the other girl's hand.

"Typical Gryffindor. No subtlety at all," she said, handing Hermione's wand back to her. "About your erstwhile assassin, I don't know much more than you do yourself. I observe better, I would guess, and I have a better idea of which Slytherins are capable of it, but I have no more proof of anything than you do. I do suggest, if you're looking for the culprit, that you start in that Potions class."

Hermione nodded, neatly blocking Greengrass's next attack with a Shielding Charm. "Thanks. Can you tell me anything useful about Slytherin politics?"

The Slytherin girl made a face. "What is it?" Hermione asked.

Greengrass smiled faintly. "It's just that you'd be laughed out of Slytherin House in a heartbeat, Granger. You're all direct questions and direct actions and wanting direct answers. We don't work that way. It's so…_bourgeois_."

"You didn't answer my question," replied Hermione, annoyed—annoyed enough to successfully disarm Greengrass, it seemed, as the other girl's wand landed in her hand.

"I know," she answered with a mysterious smile. Then her face turned serious. "Granger, as much as I feel that it's ridiculous that I have to explain this to you, I will. I have to cover my back. Slytherin works in factions, and by coming here, I just broke with both of them. I fully intend to have my own little faction soon, but explaining politics to a Gryffindor who can't keep her mouth shut when she's angry—no offense, but it's true—is not going to help me get there."

"You're just in it for your own personal gain?" Hermione spluttered, stinging a bit at the insult.

"Yeah. That would just about cover it," Greengrass replied. "Don't get me wrong, Granger—seeing the Dark Lord win is not in my best interest either, and I'll be a loyal supporter of your little pet cause. I just want you to realize that your motives are not my motives."

"So what are your motives?" Hermione snapped, frustrated.

Greengrass quickly disarmed her. "My motives? There are two major factions in Slytherin House. One supports the Dark Lord, the other doesn't. Both of them, however, think that alienating Gryffindors is in their best interest. I'm not an idiot, Granger. I could hear the Sorting Hat as well as anyone, and I believe what it has to say. We're going to lose to the Dark Lord if we don't work together—all of us, all of Hogwarts. And I don't want that. Satisfied?"

"Yes," said Hermione, a little dazed at the wealth of new information.

"Good," Greengrass grinned. "And you know, giving a straight answer for once? It's rather refreshing."

Hermione laughed too, then disarmed the Slytherin girl with a faint and rather satisfying smirk. It seemed, for once, as if there might possibly be hope that the two Houses might someday get along—far-fetched hope, but hope all the same. Although, Hermione reflected, she was never going to understand Slytherin politics.

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Notes to Reviewers: 

**Dafina**: Thanks very much once again!

**Nore**: Yeah, they are…or at least, they're starting to respect each other a bit more. :)

**Magic and sparkle**: Yeah, Hermione's pretty tough. Thanks again for reading!

**Jessie Deal**: Well, thanks anyway! It's always nice to get reviews, so thank you!

**Rik**: Thanks! I'll keep writing if you keep reading- and I'm glad you like it!

**Alarase**: Thanks very much! Yes, I know about Ashwinder- what I intend to do is finish the fic here, then do whatever overall, storywide editing needs to be done before putting it up on Ashwinder. Thanks for reviewing, and please keep reading!

**Nonymoose**: Thank you very, very much! I have a very low tolerance for bad spelling and grammar, and I do try to keep my standards high in that department. Thanks for reviewing, and keep reading! The romance is coming!

**Kabuki1**: Thanks! I'm trying very hard to keep Snape and Hermione in character, so it's nice to have readers comment to let me know how I'm doing. As for Hermione being the quintessential Slytherin, well, there'll be more on that as the story goes on. It's one of the things that's always intrigued me in the books, though- why Hermione is a Gryffindor. Keep reading!

**m482**: Well, Snape's said some pretty nasty things to Hermione before, even in the books- and, well, if no one's around to hear him…. Glad you're enjoying the mystery, though! I'm certainly having a lot of fun writing it! As for the number of chapters, well, I don't really know yet. Somewhere between 25 and 40, I would imagine, though who can really say. I suppose the best answer I can give you is as many as it takes to get the story out! Thanks very much for reading! I really appreciate the reviews!

**Duchessofpower**: well, I've already talked to you about this one- Hermione's just being Hermione, really- but I like the idea of a Slytherin Hermione, too. There's a reason the Hat put her in Gryffindor, though, aside from being Muggleborn. 


	11. Interlude Snape's POV

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Title: Artificium Magum 

Author: Calliopeia17

Chapter 10: Interlude - Snape's POV

See warnings and disclaimer in previous chapters. Please read and review!

A/N: The reason I'm posting this little snippet is hopefully to tide you all off for the next two weeks or so, while I finish an overload of schoolwork. As soon as the workload lightens up a little, I'll have the next real chapter up. Thanks so much for your patience!

A/N Number 2: This is a repost of this interlude, thanks to a wonderful review from anonymous SB, who pointed out to me that it featured a character who, inconveniently enough, was already dead. Um...oops. I'm terribly sorry about this, and I consider it a very sharp and pointed lesson in why one should never post a chapter without beta reading. (Though in my defense, I would like to mention that even JKR makes such mistakes, e.g. the wand order in GoF, and Mark Evans.) So, to clarify, Lucius Malfoy is dead. He was not at a meeting of the Death Eaters, and Severus was not hallucinating. My humblest and most sincere apologies for any confusion, and my deepest and most heartfelt thanks to SB.

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"_Finite Incantatum_." 

Macnair's piercing screams cut off suddenly. The circle around the Dark Lord was silent. They were always silent now; years ago, during the first war, they had laughed and cheered when their fellow Death Eaters were tortured for incompetence. These days, though, every call to the Dark Lord ended in beatings or hexes or the Cruciatus Curse. Every one of them was at risk; every one of them had writhed at the tip of Voldemort's wand.

Snape had rather a lot of sympathy for the others now.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "What news of Hogwarts have you?"

"My Lord, Potter, the clumsy fool, has had several accidents, though I suppose that it would be too much to hope that he would finish himself off," Severus replied. He knew full well that the "accidents" were hardly that, and he didn't doubt that someone in his own House was behind them, but if the attacks were Voldemort's will, well, Severus wasn't supposed to know about them. Better to keep quiet.

"Yes, yes," the Dark Lord muttered impatiently. "But what is that old fool Dumbledore planning? That, Severus, is why I am benevolent enough to allow you to remain at Hogwarts. My patience is growing thin."

"Dumbledore sits in his office day after day and attempts to analyze your plans, my Lord. If he makes plans of his own, he has not communicated them to me—"

"Enough, Severus," Voldemort snarled. "It is clear to me that you are just as useless as the rest of these imbeciles. All I ask is for information, and you cannot manage even that."

Severus didn't bother to beg for mercy. He wouldn't receive it, and besides, those idiots who pleaded with the Dark Lord only annoyed him further. He knelt before the man he had once served, and waited for the curse to hit.

An instant later, as the pain ripped through his wiry frame, he fought to pull his mind away from the agony. A memory of the Granger girl's face in the Infirmary that morning floated to the top of his mind; he clung to it, focused on it, tried to see her through the red haze building behind his eyes. She was only wearing a thin nightgown; she'd been so embarrassed that he could see the rising and falling of her breasts as she breathed, that he had seen her without makeup, hair mussed, and still lovely. He saw her leaping to protect Potter, saw the way the racing of her mind was visible on her face as she brewed potions.

He saw her eyes; even as the rest of the world blurred around him into darkness, he could see her eyes, bright and clear and sharp and beautiful.

He awoke to a sharp kick in the side. "Get up, Severus." Augustus Nott's disdainful sneer.

Severus staggered to his feet, nodded at Nott, and Disapparated, landing, thank Merlin, exactly where he had intended, just outside the Hogwarts gates.

His mind flashed back to the memory he had clung to through the pain of Cruciatus. Granger's face? Why in Merlin's name would he focus on an image of the insufferable child? It was just a reaction, he told himself, a reaction to the pain, in which his mind clung to the first thing he thought of. A reflex. Nothing more.

Severus stumbled back to the dungeons, collapsed onto his bed, muscles still twitching slightly with the aftereffects of the Curse. With any luck, the spasms would fade by morning.

Seeing Granger's face in the Circle had been a reflex, he thought fuzzily, closing his eyes and picturing it once again. Yes, just a reflex. Her eyes looked gently down at him as he fell almost instantly asleep.


	12. Something's Brewing

Title: Artificium Magum

Author: Calliopeia17

Chapter 12: Something's Brewing

See warnings and disclaimer in previous chapters. Please read and review!

A/N: Thanks all for putting up with the long wait. For what it's worth, in the downtime I wrote seven papers totalling something like 50 or 60 pages—I was not idle! This chapter's a bit short but more will be coming soon. My gratitude for all your reviews. Please keep it up; I cherish your input and kind words!

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There were no upper-level Potions classes scheduled for Thursdays, which worried Hermione, since she wouldn't be able to confirm her meeting time with Professor Snape that evening. It particularly worried her because of his sudden disappearance from last night's dinner. 

Hermione was far too certain that Snape had been called to Voldemort the previous evening, and, against all reason, she was worried. Well, she admitted to herself, it wasn't unreasonable to be worried. After all, Snape might be snarky and obnoxious, but he was working for Dumbledore, and it was perfectly reasonable to worry about a member of the Order of the Phoenix putting himself in harm's way. It was even, she reflected, rather brave of him to face Voldemort like that, when he was in so much danger of discovery and death.

It almost got to the point where she wasn't paying attention in Transfigurations. Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione oddly when she raised her hand to answer a question on the proper incantation to turn an aardvark into an antelope and rapidly put it back down, realizing that she'd been about to give the answer to the opposite transformation.

When Hermione explained her potential error to Harry and Ron after class, panicked that Professor McGonagall had thought she wasn't paying attention, both boys stared at her as though she were mad.

"Harry, Ron, what is it?" she asked anxiously. "You really don't think professor McGonagall thinks I'm a bad student do, you?"

"I don't think you have anything to worry about," said Harry, an odd expression on his face that looked remarkably as if he were trying to hold back laughter.

Ron's lips were pressed tightly together, an odd expression for him. "Hermione, we didn't even notice—I promise you, it's nothing." His voice sounded rather muffled.

"Good," Hermione said with a sigh of relief. "Well, then," she added briskly, we'd better be getting on to Charms, then."

"You go ahead," said Ron, his voice still sounding slightly choked. "We'll catch up."

"All right," Hermione said, turning towards the door. "But don't be late."

As she left she heard the boys break into laughter. I wonder what's so funny, she thought idly.

When she got to Charms, there was a scrap of parchment neatly folded on her desk and addressed to her in the same spiky handwriting that came back with her Potions essays. Curious, Hermione broke the seal and skipped down to the bottom to check the signature. It was from Snape, and quite brief.

_Miss Granger,_

_This is to confirm that our appointment is still scheduled for this evening. Please arrive promptly at nine._

_Severus Snape_

Just like him, really, short and curt. Hermione folded the note and tucked it into her bag among her books, just as Harry and Ron walked into the classroom and sat down beside her. Ron started snickering again, but quieted when Harry shot him an annoyed glance. Hermione figured it was better not to ask.

Charms passed uneventfully; the afternoon was occupied with early revising for NEWTs, and Hermione called Dobby the House Elf for sandwiches in the Common Room, which was easier than leaving to go to the Great Hall for dinner.

At about ten to eight, her mind was beginning to ache from page after page of incantations, and her rear end was beginning to ache from the uncomfortable wooden chair. Pulling the Artificium Magum out of her bag, Hermione flopped down onto one of the comfortable sofas and opened the heavy tome. Perhaps there would be something interesting in there to distract her.

_Magical Beings of Alternate Plains_

_Part I: The Djinni_

_The Djinni are predominantly Eastern Spirits, recognized by the Muggle population of Arabia. Little Magical study has been accomplished relating to Djinni—most of the Wizarding World's information on them comes from Muggle folklore. According to Eastern Myth, Humans and Animals were formed from the element of Earth, and are therefore a part of the Physical World. Djinni were formed from Smokeless Fire and exist in a different Reality. The Myth appears to explain the fact that Djinni exist on a separate Plane of Reality from the Physical world. There are several distinct Classes of Djinni—the Good Djinni are called Amaar, but these live in the Physical World and are impervious to Magical Manipulation. Evil Djinni are called Shaytana and often run loose in the Physical World as well, enjoying the Havoc and Mayhem that they cause. There are the Djinni who fit into no particular class—they exist on the Plane of Fire along with the Afreet, a more Powerful and often more Malevolent Breed. The Djinni that live on the Plane of Fire are susceptible to Magical Manipulation—with proper Incantation and Ritual, it is possible to contact the Plane of Fire and Summon Djinni to serve the Wizard or Witch who calls them. Djinni are very dangerous when Summoned and highly unpredictable. They revel in Destruction, and little is known about then because many of those who have attempted to Summon Djinni have not survived the experience. Summoning Djinni often results in powerful streams of Aether around the Summoning Circle, which causes extreme burns, and if the Summoning in not executed properly, the Djinni may escape and turn violently on the Summoner._

Hermione finally shut the book with fifteen minutes left before she was supposed to meet Snape in the dungeons. She slipped it in her bookbag and headed off to the dungeons.

This time, Snape was already there waiting for her when she arrived, promptly on schedule. He looked…different, somehow—his face was paler than usual, if that was even possible, and more drawn. He looked exhausted, but an angry glint in his eye warned Hermione of the perils of commenting on it.

"Good evening, Miss Granger," he said, rather civilly, Hermione thought. "Do you have all the supplies you need?"

"Yes, Professor," she responded politely. "I just need to get a few things from the storeroom."

"Very well. Go ahead and set up your supplies. Will it bother you if I watch when you brew?" he asked.

Well, yes, in one sense, it would, Hermione reflected—having Snape looming over her shoulder was more pressure than she wanted when brewing a delicate potion. "No, it won't bother me at all," she lied. "Just try not to loom, please," she added, hoping that it wasn't too bold.

It seemed not to be; Snape even cracked what might pass for a smile. Hermione set up quickly and began the same basic process as she had with the previous potion, her notes spread out carefully in front of her. Snape watched in silence as she worked quickly and neatly, chopping, dicing, and mixing the ingredients with expert precision. It was only after nearly an hour had passed in complete that she remembered that Snape was supposed to be watching her.

She turned to look; he was sitting with his head resting in his arms on the desk, asleep—or at least something that looked very much like it. Would it be better to wake him or not, Hermione wondered—at least he was getting what looked like sorely-needed sleep, but he'd be much more comfortable in bed. But would he refuse to go to bed if she woke him, or take offense to the suggestion? It seemed wiser just to let him stay where he was.

She looked at him closely for a moment—lank black hair hung down over his eyes, which were shadowed with dark purplish circles underneath them. He had long eyelashes, she noted detachedly. The torchlight was strong—it had to be to work—but it flickered and cast a golden light on his face that made him look almost peaceful. Hermione was glad he was getting the chance to rest.

She moved around the lab table so that she could face the bubbling cauldron and the sleeping Potions master at the same time and went back to work. Time went by as if in a dream, and though it was much later when it finally came time to add the dragon's blood and complete the potion, it seemed as though no time had passed at all.

She poured the precious liquid in carefully, drop by drop, and stirred with the iron rod she had taken from the storeroom—with any luck, the properties of the iron would do what the rowan had not, and the potion would work this time. The bubbling liquid turned an iridescent blue as she finished—a much better color than last time, she reflected, and she bottled it and labeled it with tidy handwriting before turning back to the still-sleeping Snape.

She coughed loudly and he stirred, then his breathing became even again. Hermione tried shifting the cauldron, scraping it across the stone counter and feeling unbearably awkward. How exactly did one wake a sleeping teacher—particularly a sleeping teacher who was likely exhausted from facing down Voldemort, and who might well attack her if she startled him awake? Luckily, this time he stirred and lifted his head.

There was a brief flash of puzzlement followed by recognition on his face. "Miss Granger?" he said a bit uncertainly.

"You fell asleep, sir," Hermione explained briskly. "You looked tired—if you'll forgive the assumption—I thought I might as well let you rest a bit. I finished the potion—it's bottled and labeled and on your desk…" Her voice trailed off nervously.

Snape pushed himself up quickly, obviously not comfortable with having let himself show any weakness in front of a student. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he said tightly. "You brewed the potion just as we had planned, with the iron stirring rod?"

"Yes sir," Hermione replied. "Do you want to test the potion tomorrow?"

He looked momently frustrated. "I'm not certain that tomorrow will be suitable. I'm afraid I may need to finish grading the work I had intended to finish tonight…." He paused. "No, never mind, Miss Granger; I'll finish before then."

By further depriving himself of sleep, she didn't doubt. He only had the First- and Second-Year essays to grade, she knew—dare she offer to help? It wouldn't be a problem at all for her to correct a few essays, and many of the other professors were more than willing to accept the help of the Prefects and the Head Boy and Girl when they got behind in their grading.

She might as well offer. "Sir, I'd be glad to help correct the essays—I grade a lot of the First- and Second-Year work for Professors McGonagall and Flitwick. I can easily have them finished by tomorrow night."

Evidence of a brief internal battle flashed on Snape's face. She knew the man was the sort who hated to accept charity, and hated admitting weakness even worse, but Hermione figured the Slytherin in him would win out—the Slytherin who would say that badly-needed sleep was more important than an insignificant modicum of pride. Snape's mouth twisted as though the idea of accepting outside help tasted repugnant, but he nodded jerkily. "I expect grading on the same level of strictness as my own, Miss Granger."

"Of course, sir," she said evenly.

"They are in a folder on the desk in my office. Bring them back tomorrow evening when you come to test the potion. Nine o'clock?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir. Nine o'clock sounds fine." She darted into the adjoining room and picked up the folder from his too-tidy desk. As she closed the door behind her, she dared to look back at him. "Sleep well, sir."

He looked absolutely shocked for a moment—when was the last time somebody had said that to him?—then nodded almost dazedly. "Good night, Miss Granger."

Was it strange, she wondered, that she could still hear his voice as she fell asleep?

* * *

Notes to Reviewers: 

From Chapter 10:

**Heather P.: **Thanks so much! I'm having a lot of fun with the build-up; I hope you continue to like the way things are progressing!

**Coliemcnoly**: Thanks! Sorry about the long wait, but I'll be updating more now!

**Dafina**: Yes, Hermione and Severus's relationship will eventually be sexual…but there's going to be a lot of build up before that. Thank you so much for your reviews once again, and please keep reading!

**Jessie Deal**: Thanks! I'm glad you like Daphne; I really like her too- she's a lot of fun to write, and I hope that there's going to be a lot more of her.

**Caeria**: Yup, Daphne's going to get to put a Slytherin spin on a lot of things. She's one of my favorite characters, and I'm glad you like her!

**Fiona McKinnon**: Thanks!

**Talio**: Thanks very much! I'm really enjoying writing it, so please keep reading!

**Diminished Seventh**: Thank you, thank you, thank you! I really appreciate your review- it's lovely to hear confirmation that I'm doing all right with characterization and new ideas. Keep reading!

**Polyhymnia**: I'll be sure to let you know in the future! g

From the Interlude:

**Jessie Deal**: Thanks, and thanks for your good wishes!

**SB**: Thanks once again, and see my updated note to the Interlude. I've learned a valuable lesson here!

**Bethyann**: Thanks! Keep reading!

**-**: Thanks! I like writing from Severus's POV- it's a fun change.

**Severus-Fan**: Sorry for the wait, but thanks for reading!

**Dafina**: Thanks once again for another lovely review!

**Fiona McKinnon**: Thanks again! I'm glad you thought it was cute!

**Shuichi'sgirl**: Thanks for reviewing! Yup, the snippets of the Artificium Magum are researched, but eventually the way all the facts and mythology come together is the way that best suits the progress of the story. It's a lot of fun to play with, though. Keep reading!


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